The Devil is in the Details
by The Voice of Night Vale
Summary: With the sixth Quarter Quell approaching, what new methods of torture have the Gamemakers devised, and what plot threatens to sabotage the Games' success? SYOT. Submissions are closed.
1. The Quell

Now was the time. Aeneas, along with the five other Gamemakers, was turned around in their seat, watching the screen eagerly while the anthem played over the speakers.

As the trumpets faded, and the screen gradually shifted to show them the President's office — meant specifically for televise events — the air in the room intensified, like there was electricity shooting between the particles.

Aeneas felt a hand reach out and grasp theirs. They looked over at Albia, their eyes meeting, and ve smiled. It was the day they had been waiting for for weeks, an obstacle that had been preventing them from moving on. The Gamemaker's jobs during a Quell year were more than a little precarious; their progress followed a loping stop-and-go as things developed, and oftentimes there was a time crunch, where the Arena wasn't finished until a few days before the Games were set to start. After all, the Games had to reflect the grandeur and excitement of the Quarter Quell.

President Oak entered the frame. She resembled the great tree so much sometimes that it made Aeneas wonder if she had changed her name to suit herself more. She was tall, broad, and dark, and her influence spread far and wide. Despite her somewhat intimidating appearance, her mint-green eyes had an incredible cleverness in them, and in their few dealings with her, Aeneas had found her to be incredibly kind and sensible.

She sat at the desk and folded her hands in front of her, a smile coming to her face. "Greetings, Panem," she began. "As you are all aware, this year marks the sixth Quarter Quell. It was one-hundred and fifty years ago that our ancestors quelled the rebellion that threatened to throw our peaceful way of life out of balance, and seventy-five years ago, we squashed a revolt that threatened us again. Now, in remembrance of that time, and as a reminder to the Districts that further barbarity will not be tolerated, I will draw a Quell card, providing a twist to the Games this year."

As if on cue, an attendant, invisible outside of the frame, reached in and placed a cherry oak box before the President. She opened it with a great show of delicacy and fingered through the cards for a few deliciously tense moments, before pulling a card out and shutting the box. It was immediately removed while the president's eyes flickered over the card.

"As a reminder to the Districts that any rebellious thoughts or actions, even within an individual, will lead to harm and misery for others, the Reaped in each District must choose someone of their same age to replace them in the Arena." She smiled benevolently. "We will see you again in two weeks, Panem, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

There was a moment of silence before the screen once again shifted to the national symbol and the anthem resumed.

Albia let out an appreciative whistle. "Holy shit," ve said. "That'll get some real survivor's guilt for the Reaped."

"No kidding," Laurentia said. "And she didn't specify that they had to be the same gender — just the same age. So that could lead to some interesting stuff this year."

"Alright," Aeneas said, clapping their hands and turning in their chair to the holograph table, which projected the area of wilderness they had chosen to place the Arena in.

They motioned to an Avox who was standing nearby. "Champagne?"

With a nod and a bow, the Avox left and returned a moment later with a tray of tall glasses. He handed one to each of them and filled it with champagne.

"Let's get to work, everyone."

* * *

 **A/N: So, just for some explanation: on the form, where it says "Reaped," still say whether they were Reaped or Volunteered, because this Quell does allow for Volunteers. If they were Reaped, in this case it just means they were chosen.**

 **Also, like Laurentia mentioned, this Quell means we can have people of the same gender go into the Arena.**

 **Also also, please keep in mind, I haven't read the Hunger Games or interacted with its content in... a long time. So if any of my canon is out of place? Just ignore it unless it's a huge deal but Sydni will probably tell me anyway. I'm gay. I'm writing an SYOT on ffn in the year of 2018. Let me rest.**

 **Again! PM me with any questions, and thanks for reading!**


	2. The Anniversary

Aeneas' heart was pounding in their chest, and they clutched the base of the bouquet so tightly in their hand their knuckles were turning white. They stood before the door to Albia's apartment, tall and gray and domineering. It seemed to loom over them, filling them with doubt.

They took a deep breath and reached out, pressing the doorbell and hearing it faintly inside. It was a cheerful noise; far more cheeful than seemed appropriate. They ran a hand through their hair and shook their hands out, first one, then the other, trying to banish the shaking.

There was a moment of stillness and then the door opened, and Albia was standing there, looking just as gorgeous as ever.

"Hi," ve said, smiling at them.

"Hi." Aeneas hoped their voice didn't betray them.

"Are those for me?"

"Of course." They extended the flowers out to vim, smiling.

"They're lovely," ve said as ve took it and went inside. Ve pulled a vase out of the cupboard and put the flowers inside it with some water.

"Are you ready to go?" they asked, watching vim. God, ve was perfect. Subconsciously, they ran their hand over their jacket pocket, feeling the reaffirming shape of the box inside. They let out a puff of breath. _I can do this,_ they thought.

"Yes," ve said, rolling ver eyes in a long-suffering sort of way.

"Okay, let's go." They took ver hand after ve shut the apartment again. It was reassuring, to feel ver hand in theirs, to know that ve was right there. It helped keep them tethered to the ground, when they felt like the might float away or sink into the earth at any second.

As they emerged out onto the cyan-colored sidewalk and ducked into the long car, Albia pressed a kiss to their cheek. "Can you believe three years ago I was just an aspiring Gamemaker? I was sure the great Aeneas Ardensill would never notice me."

"And now look at you," they replied, wrapping an arm around vim as they pulled away from the curb.

It was a short ride to the restaurant. A good thing, too, because they were almost late for the reservation, thanks to Aeneas' near-panic attack while they were getting ready for their date.

There was the usual hubbub of paparazzi as they emerged from the car onto the curb. The weeks leading up to the Games were exciting times for Aeneas and their team, and the public was constantly clawing to get to any information they could about the two intimately involved Gamemakers.

They waved and smiled for the cameras, denied interview requests, and politely reminded the journalists that they could contact their agents if they wanted any information to publish. Aeneas knew that by the end of the night, there wouldn't be a news journal or station that wouldn't have their names mentioned, despite their efforts. That was the nature of an occasion like this.

Going into the restaurant, Aeneas didn't even need to give their name. Everyone in the Capitol knew their face.

They were immediately led to a small table located in the back of the dining room. It was somewhat isolated, but within plain view of the other tables. Aeneas felt that same panic wash over them. It wasn't like Albia would say no, but who wasn't nervous about proposing to the person they loved?

They had dinner, drank a little too much wine, and had just ordered their dessert when they took ver hand and stood.

Giving them a questioning look, ve stood as well. "Aeneas, what—?"

"Albia, my love," they began, and like that, what had been a well-rehearsed script vanished completely from their mind. The panic rose, and they knew they were sweating.

"Aeneas," ve repeated. There was a little suspicion now in ver voice, and they knew ve probably had an idea what this was about. In it was concern, too, of course, because it wasn't often they lost their composure.

"Albia, my love," they repeated. "You... are probably the best thing to ever happen to me. Three years ago, I didn't even know your name. Two years ago today, I asked you to be my dance partner at the Congratulatory ball, and tonight, I ask…" they swallowed hard. They knew what to say, they knew it, but the words got caught up somewhere in their throat, and they had to pause. They took the opportunity to lower down onto one knee.

It was an archaic way to propose, and had been out of fashion for several years, but they were a sucker for the old-world romance. They were a trendsetter anyway. By next month, all the proposals in the Capitol would be done the old-fashioned way.

Albia's eyes filled with tears and ve put a hand against ver lips. "Oh my God," ve whispered.

Aeneas drew out the box and opened it, holding it up so ve could see. Around them, people had gathered, and were murmuring to one another. Out of the corner of their eye, they saw the flash of a camera.

But they couldn't think about the others right now. All that mattered was this; them and Albia.

"Today I ask you to marry me." It felt like they had finally come up for air after being underwater as the words left their mouth. A thousand pounds lifted from their shoulders and they nearly started crying themself from the relief.

Albia had already broken down, tears streaming down ver made up cheeks. Ve had pulled ver lips into ver mouth, trying to stifle the emotion.

Finally, after a moment, ve choked on a sob and managed to whisper, "Yes, yes, of course, you idiot."

They slipped the ring onto ver finger, and Albia pulled them to their feet and wrapped them up in probably the tightest hug that they had ever shared.

"I love you," ve whispered, barely containing sobs. "I love you so much. You're amazing, you're amazing, you're amazing." Ve pulled away, laughing and crying and grinning all at the same time, before kissing them deeply.

Aeneas could only hold it there for a moment before the feeling of all the eyes on them convinced them to pull away.

"We need to do this later," they whispered.

"We have dessert on the way."

"We can get it to go." They cupped ver face in their hands, unable to contain a smile. They sat back down at the table but immediately their hands met. It felt like every moment they weren't touching was torture, like the heat of Albia's skin was the only sustenance they needed, was their food, their water, their oxygen.

As the server managed to push his way through the crowd, he set the desserts down on the table. He looked somewhat uncomfortable, since Albia was still crying.

"Would you need a box for that, Mx.?" he asked Aeneas.

"Yes, please—and the bill, as well."

That night, Aeneas' newsfeed was flooded with articles from every news outlet imaginable, as well as gushy messages from friends, family, acquaintances, and even a few perfect strangers, congratulating the two of them on their engagement. Albia was on the other side of the bed, fast asleep, but Aeneas had found sleep elusive. So they had taken down a few notes about the Arena, about the different mechanics they might implement, different punishments for Tributes who wouldn't play along, and now they were idly scrolling through their social media, figuring that the humdrum boringness of it might finally put them to sleep.

Eventually, it did, happy and contented and wrapped around the body of their one true love, who was now their fiancex.

 **A/N: I wanted to make another prologue chapter so I could get a little more traffic to start filling in those Tribute spots, and I wanted to develop Albia and Aeneas a little more, so here this was! Review and let me know what you think, but if you've got any criticisms, make sure to keep it constructive (and yes, I am absolutely throwing shade). I don't like being condescended to, so please don't talk to me like I'm twelve : )**

 **As for the rest of you, thanks so much for reading! It feels good to actually be writing something again, and I'm so excited for this SYOT to expand further!**

 **If you have a reservation and haven't finished the tribute yet, don't forget about it! I'm waiting on my other D1 Tribute to be submitted before I can start on Intro Chapters, and once I get into that, I can start posting a little more regularly (and once my life slows down, which it should after this weekend).**

 **Also, keep checking back at my profile! Occasionally I will edit my guidelines as new things come up, especially since I've never written an SYOT before.**


	3. The Hare and the Cockatiel

**Peri Baines**

 **One Week Ago**

"Peri holy shit," Astoria said as she burst into their room.

Peri jumped, but quickly recovered, letting out a breath and looking up at their friend from their desk. "Astoria holy shit," they said, mimicking her excited tone. "What is it?"

"You know how Jewel and Kinnick were supposed to fight for the Chosen Tribute spot today?"

"Yeah." They stood, raising their eyebrows. Everyone in the Academy knew that. It had only been the most talked-about event for the past two months.

"Well you'll never guess what happened."

They smiled. "Um, one of them won, I assume."

"No!" She reached forward and grabbed their hands. "They both beat each other senseless! They wouldn't yield, so they both ended up injured! They had to be taken to the hospital."

Reality dawned on them. "Oh my God," they said. "So that means—"

"You're the Chosen Tribute! You get it by default!"

"Holy shit," they said. They stared at Astoria for a moment before running past her and down into the living room. "Mom!" they shouted.

They found their mom in the kitchen, naturally. She had her glasses on and was staring intently at a piece of jewelry. That was their mom, alright: never stopped working. That was a lot of where Peri got it from.

They could barely stand still, excitedly tapping their fingers together as they waited for their mom to finish… whatever it was she was doing.

After a long moment of silence, her eyes flicked up to them.

She had barely opened her mouth to speak before Peri blurted, "I'm the Chosen Tribute!"

She raised her eyebrows before slowly putting her project and her glasses down, and standing up. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Jewel and Kinnick injured each other so much that they can't go into the Games! So since I'm third in the Academy, I get to go in by default!"

She glanced over their head and Astoria before looking back down at them. "Did the Trainers tell you this?"

"Well, no, not yet—"

"You should probably go find out from them. Would you like to tell your father when he gets home or should I?"

"I want to tell him. I shouldn't be gone for a long time."

She nodded and sat back down, a signal that the conversation was over.

"Come on," they said to Astoria before quickly leaving the house. As they started running towards the Academy building, they saw Garnet and Valor, their two other friends, come into view—apparently having the same idea that Astoria did.

"Peri!" Valor said. "Did you hear the news!"

"Yeah! Astoria just told me. I'm going to the Academy right now so my mom knows I asked the trainers."

"We'll come with you. You just have to promise not to run the whole way there."

Peri laughed. "Okay." The four of them set off in the direction that Peri and Astoria had been going, all talking excitedly over one another—save for Garnet, of course, who rarely raised his voice. He was one of the least-excitable people in the group, though he wasn't boring by any means. But when he stood next to people like Valor, who was loud and in-your-face, he looked about as tame as a fish.

Finally, an opportunity for Peri to prove themself, an opportunity to be the Tribute that their parents had never gotten the chance to. They had spent so much of their life—since they were about eight years old—training to be a Tribute, pushing themself so hard that sometimes they failed tests, that sometimes they'd go over the edge and would spend days at a time all but bedridden from exhaustion. Finally, they could prove themself and win the Hunger Games.

"After this, I want to go on a run," Peri said, cutting Valor off mid-sentence. They hadn't really been paying attention to what he been said, having been too deep in their own thoughts. But their friends were used to it. They were fidgety and energetic—two things that made them think a lot of the time that they had ADHD—and sometimes they stopped paying attention to things just to jump back in with whatever had just gone through their head. "I'm all fired up now."

"No kidding," Garnet said mildly, looking over at them and raising his eyebrows.

"Sounds good to me," Astoria said, grinning.

"And what are we supposed to do?" Valor asked. "The two of you leave us in the dust whenever you get going."

"We'll slow down for you," Peri said with a shrug.

"Or you can just sit somewhere and make out like you usually do."

Valor shoved Astoria and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever dude," he said, though his face was red. He tried to hide it by running his hands over his face a couple of times, but it was obvious enough.

Peri and Astoria were pretty certain that Garnet and Valor were dating—or if they weren't, they ought to be—and were just too embarrassed to admit it. Which was ridiculous. They were the closest of the close, and that's the type of thing you share with your best friends. Then again… if Valor and Garnet told them about it, everyone within earshot of Peri and Astoria would know too. It had been brought to their attention—a few times, really—that they weren't the best at keeping secrets or even keeping things quiet.

Soon, they got to the Academy, and they saw the head trainer, Arson Tribette, locking up.

"Arson!" Peri called.

The trainer turned. "Oh, Baines," she said. "I was just about to send for you. I assume that you've already been notified of what happened here today?"

"Yeah. Is it true? Are Jewel and Kinnick really too injured to go into the Games?"

"Unfortunately. I can't in good conscience send them to the Capitol when both of them have concussions and Jewel has a broken jaw. They'd be slaughtered."

"So does that mean I'm the Chosen Tribute?"

"Yes it does. Congratulations, Imperial. It will be made official at the commencement ceremony. Wear your best clothes."

Peri grinned. "Thanks, Arson," they said.

They looked at their friends as Arson walked away and grinned.

"Come on," Astoria said. "Let's go run around the park."

"Promise you'll hold back for the two of us," Garnet said.

"Yeah, sure," Peri said, not even thinking about what he had said.

* * *

 **Dazzle Brightsong**

 **One Week Ago**

Dazzle's heart was pounding from her place in the bleachers as she watched the fight. Her boyfriend, Kinnick, was down there doing his damndest to beat back Jewel.

"Come on, Kinnick," she whispered to herself. Both of the boys had taken pretty heavy blows to the head, and both seemed to be wobbling on their feet. She wanted her boyfriend to win, of course, but she wanted him safe even more. If he didn't yield soon, he'd get seriously hurt.

Jewel was an enormous guy. Kinnick was no twig either, but he relied far more on his dexterity and his stamina than his actual strength, which is where Jewel had the upperhand on him.

When Kinnick decided that he wanted to go into the Games to honor his older brother, who had died in the Arena five years ago, Dazzle knew she wanted to go in with him. She had never really wanted to go into the Games, had never wanted to be a Career. Really, she hated the Careers and hated training. She had only done it because she wanted to be with Kinnick.

The sound of an impact brought her back to reality, and she saw that Jewel had taken Kinnick to the ground and was sitting on him, just wailing on him.

She stood up, her heart seizing. "Kinnick!" she shouted, "Yield!"

After a moment though, he seemed to get a burst of strength, and managed to wiggle out from underneath Jewel's huge body. He stood up before the bigger guy could, and delivered a swift kick to his face. There was a crack and Jewel howled.

She smiled and her eyes filled with relieved tears. "Thank God," she whispered.

Despite the blood on his face and his jaw hanging at an awkward angle now, Jewel got up. He looked like he was about to topple, though. Maybe there was hope after all.

Kinnick went in for a gut punch, but Jewel grabbed him by the neck and slammed him down. Dazzle shouted in horror and started running down the bleachers towards the rink.

"Kinnick!" she yelled.

He was laying limply on the ground, and a moment later, Jewel toppled forward as well, and both were still.

Arson, the head trainer, knelt beside the both of them, calling for a medic and checking both boys' pulses.

"Is he okay?" she asked the trainer.

"They're both alive," she replied. "Just unconscious."

A pair of stretchers appeared and carried the two of them off.

"Dazzle, oh my God." Her friend Marvel approached. "Is he okay?"

She nodded, a few tears running down her face.

"There's no way Arson's going to let either of them go in," he said. "Who's third in the class?"

"I—I don't know. Imperial, I think is their name."

"Are you still going in?" Marvel knew what her opinion on the Games were. He took her hand and led her from the gymnasium, looking over at her with all that concern.

"I—I don't know. I can't. I don't want to. I just won't volunteer. I'll let someone else volunteer for me, or I'll let whoever gets picked go in. I don't care. I'm not going in without Kinnick. There's no way I'll join the Careers." With that, she broke down and started sobbing, burying her face into Marvel's chest.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, stroking her hair. "It'll be okay. Tomorrow we can go check up on Kinnick and everything will be okay."

She nodded slightly and sniffled. "Where's Andromeda?" she asked.

"Still at work, I think. We can swing by her house and tell her what happened if you want."

She rubbed her eyes and nodded a little bit.

The next morning, Dazzle and Marvel went to the hospital that Jewel and Kinnick had been transferred to. Marvel and Andromeda had spent the night, but she knew she wouldn't be able to feel better until she saw her boyfriend and made sure he was okay. The Reaping had all but left her mind. To her, she wasn't going into the Games. No one could _make_ her Volunteer, and most of the people in District One didn't even know who the Chosen Tributes were until they got up on that stage.

They found Kinnick's room easy enough, and he was sitting up with a tray of food in his lap.

Immediately Dazzle rushed in and hugged him, crying all over again.

The blood had been cleaned off and he had stitches and bandages over all his injuries. He looked fucking exhausted, of course, and more than a little out of it, but otherwise he seemed okay.

"Dazzle," he said quietly, wrapping an arm around her and pressing his lips into her hair. "They're not gonna let me go in. Please don't Volunteer."

"I won't," she whispered. "I'd never. You know how much I hate it."

"Good," he said.

"You dumbass. Why didn't you yield?"

He laughed a little bit, though groaned halfway through. "'Cause I wanted to go in. But you're right, I am a dumbass."

"I love you so much."

"I love you too."

She stood up but kept his hand tightly in hers. "At least you got a good kick in on Jewel. Did you break his jaw?"

He nodded. "Yeah," he said, grinning. "He deserved it too. I hate that guy."

Marvel and Andromeda came forward and gently hugged him as well before sitting down on the couch in the room. Dazzle stayed by his bedside, of course, and only let go of his hand so he could eat.

* * *

 **Dazzle Brightsong**

 **Present Day**

"What do you mean you're not volunteering?"

"If Kinnick can't go in, there's no reason for me to. I don't want to be with the Careers, and I don't stand a chance by myself. I'm just not going to Volunteer. I'll let someone else who wants to go in do it."

Dazzle and her older brother were volunteering with a local charity (a vanity project mostly, from some of the richest people in the District), distributing a type of breakfast burrito for the poorer citizens as they all marched dutifully towards the square for the Reaping.

Dazzle and Alexi were already in their Reaping clothes, and when the time came, they would go straight to the square and join the others. It was a habit of theirs, to volunteer and do what they could to help improve the lot of the other citizens, when Dazzle wasn't training to spending time with Kinnick.

"Good," Alexi said. "I can only imagine what Jax would think if you actually went in."

Jax was their older brother, and he hated the Games and the Capito more than even Dazzle did. When she told the family that she intended on becoming the Chosen Tribute so she and Kinnick could go in, he had freaked out, and didn't talk to her for a week. He'd be relieved to know she wasn't going to take part in the Capitol's show.

The clocktower started tolling. It was five o'clock, the Reaping would start in an hour.

"Better get going," Alexi said. He hurried along, offering his last handful of breakfast burritos to several thankful citizens, before hurrying along with her to the Square.

It was cold and blustery, as it tended to be in District One, and Dazzle was getting goosebumps along her arms as they walked down the cobbled streets with the crowd.

Everyone was so quiet. A couple of children, probably around six, would occasionally shout or start playing, but their parents tended to pull them by the arm and hush them, reminding them of what a solemn occasion this was.

At least here, in District One, very rarely did the non-Careers have to worry about being Reaped. There were a few dry years, usually after a few wins in a row, where no one at the Academy really seemed up to being the Chosen Tribute, but that had only happened once or twice in Dazzle's memory.

Still, though, the citizens of District One were split about evenly on their opinions of the Games: many viewed it as an honorable gladiator sport, something they idolized because the Capitol idolized it. It was fun and exciting to them, and they had all been socialized to dehumanize the children they were watching kill and be killed on screen. The Reaping was viewed as the first powerful step, the grand opening to three weeks of entertainment. It was solemn in the way a military parade is solemn. The others—usually the poorer people—didn't have the luxury of copying the Capitol, so they were a lot less swept up in the spectacle of the Games, and tended to be able to see just how gruesome it all was. For these people, the Reaping was solemn in the way a hospital is solemn: you can feel Death roaming around, and will pluck unsuspecting victims without a second thought.

As Dazzle and Alexi found their way to the Square, they went by the spectator's section, where Dazzle left Alexi behind, told her dad and other siblings she would see them after the Reaping, and made her way to the line. She was the last child in her family to be in the Reaping, and after this year, it would all be behind them. She wouldn't have to stand in line or get her blood drawn anymore. Instead, she could stand beside Jax and hear him mutter treason as a pair of kids were sent to the slaughterhouse.

After she had her blood drawn, she went to the eighteen-year-old's section and pushed her way through, trying to find Kinnick so she could stand next to him. She did find him eventually, just before the Reaping started. He still had stitches in, and his black eye was still visible, but he looked in good spirits.

They shared a brief kiss and she took his hand tightly while the Mayor took to the stage.

He was a short, fat man with an utterly ridiculous moustache—it was almost as if he were trying to use it to compensate for the lack of hair on the top of his head.

"Good morning District One," he said after clearing his throat several times. There was a short cheer, which prompted a smile from him.

He started reading off the Treaty of Treason, and Dazzle only half-listened. After hearing it for eighteen years at every Reaping, and another time every other year in school, she could probably recite it from heart by now. Instead, she leaned against Knick slightly, careful not to shove him off-balance. She wondered who would Volunteer in her place. It was possible that no one would, but since District One wasn't all that strict about the concept of the Chosen Tribute—not like District One, at any rate—some hotheaded Career would probably charge forward in her place anyway. She thought about the energetic little kid who had been chosen by default. She wondered how he would do in the Games. He wasn't big and brawny like a lot of the other kids at the Academy were, but _damn_ he could run. But he'd be an easy target, being a sixteen-year-old. Hopefully he could hold his own against the oxes who generally made up the Career pack.

As the Treaty of Treason reading ended, their escort, Macaron Darwin, made her way to the microphone on her stilt-like high heels.

"Thank for that _thrilling_ reading of the Treaty of Treason, Mayor Bayard." Dazzle wasn't sure if she was intentionally being ironic or not. "Well, what a _wonderful_ day for a Reaping. A bit breezy though, don't you all agree?" She smiled at the mumble of "agreement" before someone shouted "it's windy as hell!" from the fifteen-year-old's section. Macaron laughed along with the crowd, but quickly got back down to business. "Well, shall we do the gentleman first this year?"

She tiptoed over, her heels making a woody _clack_ noise on the stage, and thrust her gloved hand inside. She withdrew a name, read it over, and then made her way back to the microphone. She read the name over once more, as if concerned that she would mess it up, and then said, "Trico Greene!"

A young kid peeled from the fourteen-year-old crowd and made their way up the stage.

"Good morning, Trico!" Macaron pipped.

"Good morning," he replied.

"Do you have someone you would like to pick to replace you?"

"Um… Indigo Takahashi."

"Indigo? Are you out there?" she asked, looking out over the crowd.

Another fourteen-year-old approached the stage, but already a voice was calling out "I volunteer!"

Indigo stopped in their tracks, looking over their shoulder as the Chosen Tribute, Imperial, came down the walkway. It seemed like they were practically jumping out of their skin with energy, and they nearly tripped up the stairs.

"What's your name, darling?" Macaron asked as Trico returned to his section.

"Imperial Baines—but lots of people call me Peri," they said.

"Well congratulations, Peri. You smell like a winner to me." She turned—nearly hitting Peri in the face with the elaborate birdcage she had on her shoulder—and exclaimed, "and now the ladies!"

She went over to the other bowl and fished around in it for a moment, evidently trying to create tension.

The name she called out was one that Dazzle recognized. It was one of the other trainees at the Academy.

She mounted the stairs, throwing her tightly braided hair over her shoulder.

"Good morning, Dionysus," Macaron said, in the exact same voice she had greeted Trico.

"Good morning, ma'am," Dionysus replied, not even looking at her. Her dark eyes were sweeping the crowd, and Dazzle, even from the distance, could see the gears churning in her mind. She must be deciding who she wanted to pick.

"Do you have a name for someone to replace you?"

"I do. Dazzle Brightsong."

Hold on. That can't be right. She must have heard wrong.

Dazzle felt Kinnick freeze beside her. But she just stood there, dumbfounded, for a moment.

Macaron looked out over the crowd. "Dazzle?" she asked. "Are you out there, sweetheart?"

Kinnick gently elbowed her. He didn't want the Peacekeepers to have to pull her out of the section.

Still, though, she didn't move.

People were turning to look at her, and the whole square was deathly silent.

Finally, Kinnick hissed in her ear, "Go up to the stage, Dazzle."

She looked at him like he was insane for a moment, and then she realized. She _had_ said her name. Dionysus must have known she was supposed to be the Chosen Tribute and had just picked her to make their lives easier. But that was wrong. Dazzle wasn't supposed to go into the Arena, she didn't _want_ to.

Slowly, mechanically, she stepped out into the walkway and made her way up to the stage. It felt like every nerve in her body was dead, and she couldn't feel the tips of her fingers anymore.

"Good morning, Dazzle," Macaron said, smiling at her with those bright green lips.

Dazzle merely nodded, locking eyes with Kinnick, and then her parents out in the crowd.

"Do we have any Volunteers?"

Dazzle looked out there, looking for someone to raise their hand, waiting for a voice to shout. She kept willing someone, _anyone_ , to step up and Volunteer.

But nobody did, and after a reasonable amount of time, Macaron smiled and said, "Well! I don't know about the rest of you, District One, but it seems like we have two _very_ capable Tributes this year!"

She ordered the two of them to shake hands, but Dazzle barely felt it. She barely felt like she was alive. She was shaking and she was staring straight ahead despite the fact that she was screaming in her mind.

There was a round of applause as Dazzle and Peri faced the crowd and the cameras, before they were led off to the Justice Building.

Once the door shut to the room for goodbyes, Dazzle broke down. She wanted to run, to pry the door off its hinges and run away from this. But she would be tazed and detained if she did, and then she wouldn't be able to say goodbye.

The first people to come, of course, was her family.

The first thing Jax said, of course, was a swear directed at the Capitol.

Everyone fell in and hugged her. Everyone was crying right along with her, even Astonish was almost in tears. Dazzle and her sister weren't all that close, especially since she wasn't around a whole lot, but she was squeezing her the tightest. Maybe she was compensating for how little they interacted.

"Please come back to us, Dazzle," he whispered. "I can't lose anyone else."

Dazzle swallowed hard. She knew he was talking about her mother. Despite her mother's flaws, her disdain for the poor and less fortunate, it hurt to think about her death, how she had withered away to almost nothingness when Dazzle was twelve.

"I'm gonna," she said through her sobs. "I'm gonna." But did she have it in her? She didn't know for sure. She didn't know if she was capable of killing, of ending another teenager's life so early. She would be expected to join the Career pack. Would she? She didn't know. She didn't want to. Maybe she could find someone else to ally herself with. Maybe Peri didn't want to be a Career either. Of course, that was unlikely. What else was he at the Academy for?

Soon, her family left, and Marvel and Andromeda came in.

"Oh, honey," Marvel said. They came over and hugged her. "This wasn't supposed to happen. This is the worst."

She nodded slightly. "I don't want to go in. I don't know if I can do it."

"I know you will," he said.

"We believe in you," Andromeda said, rubbing her back. "Don't worry. Just do your best."

They stood there hugging and crying for several minutes. Dazzle couldn't even bring herself to speak, and the other two didn't seem to mind that.

Finally, Kinnick came in. She ran to him and hugged him tightly, her tears coming fresh.

"I should have volunteered for you," he whispered, hugging her tightly and burying his face into her hair.

She shook her head. "No," she whispered. "I wouldn't have let you. You're hurt, you won't be better before the Games."

"I don't want you to go in either though," he said, and his voice cracked.

This, of course, only made Dazzle cry harder.

He led her over to the couch. "I don't want to see you hurt. I don't want to see you go in alone."

"I'll be okay," she said, both to Kinnick and to herself. Maybe if she just told herself that she would be okay, she would.

"You've got to get allies. I know you hate the Careers, but they're probably your best bet. You're strong, you're good, they'll take you, I'm sure. Partner up with that Imperial kid."

She nodded. She didn't know if she would actually do it, but if it meant she would be able to come back, to her family, to her friends, to Kinnick.

They sat on the couch in one another's arms for the rest of the hour. At one point, their conversation turned to normal, mundane things, and for a moment everything felt… normal. It didn't feel like they were sitting in the Justice Building, didn't feel like Dazzle had just been Reaped. It just felt like it was a normal day, where they were talking about nonsense.

But then, a Peacekeeper opened the door. "Hour's up," she said.

With a last kiss and hug goodbye, Kinnick left and she was led outside to the car.

* * *

 **Peri Baines**

 **Present Day**

Peri sat down on the couch and folded their hands in their lap. A moment later, their parents came in.

Immediately, it was down to business. Their parents had been training at the Academy, they were going to go into the Games together before Peri was born. They knew what they needed to know before going into the Arena.

"Imperial, listen to me," their mother said. She usually used their full name, but their tone was so serious, it almost made Peri draw back. "You have to pair with the other Career Districts. You're fast, but you're not strong. Your best bet is to ally yourself with them, and let them carry you through."

"What your mother means to say, Peri," their father cut in, looking at his wife before turning his attention back on them, "is that we believe in you, and we know you can win. You just have to play smart. We know you have the potential."

He hugged them then, and their mother joined as well.

They sat close together then, and they continued talking strategy. At one point, Peri broke down crying, but their father was quick to comfort them. He had always been the more nurturing between their parents, as their mother had always taken more of a "tough love" approach to parenting.

Soon, they left, and Garnet, Astoria, and Valor came in.

They had had their goodbyes the day before, of course, so there wasn't much more to be said.

However, Garnet, always observant, had something to say about Dazzle. "Did you see how she looked when she got picked?"

"She didn't really look like she wanted to be up there."

"I heard from one of the other trainees that she and Kinnick were planning to go in together," Astoria said. "When Kinnick got his ass handed to him, he couldn't go in. My bet is that she didn't want to get picked unless he was. But when Dionysus went up, I bet she figured that Dazzle was gonna volunteer anyway."

"Oh, that's terrible," Peri said, frowning. "I hope she's okay."

"She'll be fine, I'm sure."

"Right now, though, you just have to make sure you win. You gonna join the Careers?"

"I dunno. Maybe. It probably depends on if they're good or not."

Astoria threw an arm around their shoulder. "You're gonna be great," she said.

Soon, the hour was up, and their friends were sent away. They were led by the Peacekeeper to a car that would take them to the train station, where they'd be transported to the Capitol.

Peri let out a deep breath.

They were going into the Hunger Games. They might never come back.

* * *

 **A/N: Woo! Finally, first chapter out. I hope y'all liked it, and let me know in the reviews! I'm sorry this took so long to get out, there were some mix-ups as far as getting Tributes submitted and things like that. I'm gonna** _ **try**_ **and update semi-regularly, but who knows about that lol. I think I'm gonna keep the goodbyes rather short and sweet, if I end up doing them consistently at all, because in my opinion they're really repetitive and frankly kind of boring.**

 **Anyway, this was Peri Baines from** _ **twistedservice,**_ **and Dazzle Brightsong from** _ **RedPanda56!**_


	4. The Lion and the Hawk

**Keiynan Edgar**

 **Seven years ago**

"Bye Keiynan!" Oli called as he and Duke wandered away from the Academy.

He waved back behind them before rolling his shoulder, grimacing. He had worked pretty hard that day, and he was already feeling some of the soreness. He was still new to the sheer amount of physical effort training took from him, even though his parents had been grooming him to go into the Academy for two years. It wouldn't stop him, though.

He stopped on his way down the street as he noticed someone jumping at the base of a tree in the nearby park. He frowned, and went over.

It was a girl, about his age, maybe a year older than him. She kept trying to grab onto a branch and haul herself up, but if her fingers managed to latch onto the branch, she didn't have the strength to climb up into it.

"Um… what are you doing?" Keiynan asked.

The girl squeaked in surprise and then fell, landing on her backside before turning and looking up at him. "Climbing a tree. _Duh_ ," she said.

Keiynan raised his eyebrows. "That looked more like falling to me," he replied.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't you have something else to be doing?" she snapped.

He shrugged. "Besides going home, no. Do you want help?"

"No. Go away."

He put his hands up in surrender. "Okay, have it your way," he said. He turned and walked away. With a glance over his shoulder, he saw that she was still struggling. He didn't turn back, though. She didn't seem like the type to admit her defeat.

Every day after that Keiynan saw the same girl trying to jump onto that same branch. Sometimes she'd run over to a different tree and try with that for a few minutes, but eventually she always returned to that same old oak. It was one of the few trees in the park that had branches laying low enough for a puny ten-year-old to reach.

For about a week or so, he didn't stop or speak to her. She had made it quite plain that first day that she didn't want to be bothered.

Eventually, though, he started waiting around outside the Training Center, watching her for several minutes as he recovered from whatever workout they had been doing that day before walking home.

Finally, she seemed to notice.

"Are you stalking me or something?" she asked him one day. It seemed like whenever she talked to him she had this stormy look, like he was a really annoying bug that wouldn't stop landing in her hair.

"What? No."

"I see you every day, walking by here."

"I train at the Academy."

A pause. "Oh."

"I do see you here though. Sometimes I like to watch you struggle."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're going about it all wrong. You need to work on your core strength, mostly, if you want to make it easier to haul your bodyweight up into a branch. And you should probably find lower branches."

"Speak for yourself, pipsqueak," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Hey, I'm just saying," he said. "Besides, I'm not all _that_ short."

"Compared to some of the other meatheads I see at the Center you are."

"Fine, whatever. Listen, do you want me to give you a boost, or not?"

She huffed and turned away, crossing her arms. "Fine."

With that, Keiynan easily lifted her an extra foot or two, giving her more than enough height to hook her hands onto the branch.

With a great deal of struggle, she managed to pull herself up onto the branch, grinning triumphantly.

Keiynan rolled his eyes and jumped, grabbing on himself. He didn't really _feel_ like doing a few pull ups, but he did it anyway. Any workout was a beneficial workout, he supposed. He climbed onto the branch beside the girl and looked over at her.

"What's your name, anyway?" she asked.

"Keiynan Edgar," he said.

"I'm Valia Greenhorn."

"Oh, hey, I've heard that name."

"Probably my parents. Everyone in this part of District Two hates them."

"My parents are always talking about how your parents are radicals."

She shrugged. "Maybe. They just don't like the culture surrounding the Games and the Academy." Judging by the tone of her voice—and the fact that it was a little beyond the vocabulary of a ten-year-old—he guessed that that was a direct quotation.

He nodded. He didn't really understand what exactly that meant, but he wasn't going to question it.

"So you train at the Academy?" she asked after a minute.

He nodded.

"Are you gonna be a Career?"

"If I can make it." He was determined, even at that age, to get chosen, to go into the Hunger Games and win and _finally_ make his parents proud.

So that was how the friendship between Valia Greenhorn and Keiynan Edgar started. Over the years they got closer, though letting other people in was difficult for both of them. Maybe that was why they worked so well.

Keiynan's parents, of course, disapproved. They didn't outright forbid it, but they made it very clear that they didn't want him hanging out with Valia, and he almost never brought her over.

Valia's parents, although a little distrusting of the Career boy from the Academy, were a little more understanding.

Valia was quiet, like he was—up until you made her mad, at least. She never freaked out or yelled at anyone in public, since she always preferred to remain unseen, but once you got her alone—God, she would just let it rip. She taught Keiynan all the swear words he knew long before the guys at the Academy learned them.

Although she sometimes said some… questionable things about the Capitol and the Games—things that, despite Keiynan's best efforts to ignore, _did_ make sense—she didn't usually protest about his intent to go into the Games. She expressed a concern for his safety, sure enough, but once Keiynan insisted that he "had to do it," she usually didn't talk about it for a few months.

Although he occasionally got shit from Oli and Duke for hanging out with the "Greenhorn girl," it only took a few choice words from them until Keiynan went off. He had actually _hit_ Duke in the face when he hadn't backed off. _That_ had put a little bit of a chill in their friendship, but they knew better than to talk shit about Valia around him after that.

Sometimes he'd get questions from people he knew if they were dating, which was absolutely preposterous. They were all kinds of close, for sure, and sometimes they would cuddle or hold hands or something, but it had never been romantic—and neither of them _wanted_ it to be romantic. They were happy being best friends, best friends who were okay being intimate. Valia was the only person in District Two that had ever managed to get under his shell, the thick facade of the Career he liked to put up. She knew him better than anyone, and he wouldn't exchange that for the world.

* * *

 **Vernazza Riviera**

 **Six days ago**

"This is bullshit, Magma!"

"Language, Dawn." Magma's voice was, as always, deep and gruff, but completely monotonous.

"I'm sorry, but you _can't_ let a fifteen-year-old be the Chosen Tribute. It's not—it's not fair."

 _Amazing_ , Vernazza thought. _She sounds like a three-year-old having a tantrum._

Magma adjusted her glasses on her nose. "Vernazza won the match, Dawn. Accept your defeat like a real Tribute. Age doesn't have anything to do with who goes into the Games. There have been plenty of young Chosen Tributes from District Two in the past, some younger than her. She _is_ the Chosen Tribute, and no amount of whining from you will change that."

Dawn huffed audibly, stood, and stormed from the room.

Vernazza turned in her chair and watched her go, eyebrows raised.

Magma sighed. "I'm sorry about that," she said. "I shouldn't have let her insist I call you in here. I knew there would be… some resistance."

"She doesn't think I won fairly."

"No, she doesn't. But we all know that your physical strength is not what puts you ahead in the Academy."

"Is she going to try and Volunteer too? Because I'm not going to be able to beat her twice."

"She'd better not." Magma's eyes flicked to the door for a moment. "I'll talk to her again, make sure she understands exactly how dishonourable it would be if she were to try and take your place."

Vernazza nodded. "If that's all," she said, standing.

"Yes."

She quickly left the room and went outside, looking around. Ivory had said she was going to be waiting for her. She found her sitting underneath a tree on a bench and went over to her.

Her friend stood up when she saw her and came jogging over. "I saw Dawn come out. She looked pissed."

"Well, Magma basically told her to shut up and stop being whiny, so I'd imagine that bruised her ego a little bit."

Ivory laughed. " _Good_ , she deserves it. She should just accept her defeat like a big person."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Come on. I want to spar."

"For fuck's sake Vernazza, how often are you going to train? If you keep on like this, you're going to be too exhausted when you get to the Capitol to actually get a good score."

"All the other Careers are going to be watching me," she said, already walking back to her house. "I need to show them that it doesn't matter how young I am. I'm capable."

"You're gonna be fine. Maybe strength isn't your best bet, but you could run circles around the others."

"I have Edgar for that. He's the strong one. Still. I'm not going into the Games without working on my strength. What's the point of going in if I can't swing a sword? I can't just rely on being fast and agile, and there's no guarantee I'm going to get a bow. Who knows what the Gamemakers have in store. I have to be prepared. I have to be perfect."

"Okay, okay. Just… don't wear yourself out, okay?"

"I'm not going to." She looked over at her friend. She was always the one to pull her back when she got too far in, when she found herself obsessing over every little detail to the detriment of her mental or physical health. "Thanks."

They hurried along towards Vernazza's house as District Two gradually wound down into evening.

The two girls went inside and Vernazza waved to her mom briefly. "Where's dad?" she asked.

"Still at work."

"Of course. We're going out into the backyard."

"That's fine." Her mother was being uncharacteristically nonchalant, she must have something on her mind. Usually she was all questions.

She led Ivory into the backyard, where all of her training equipment was. A bench press, a punching bag hanging from a stout tree branch, a target for bow practice, and a small circle of packed dirt, where the grass had been stomped away with use, for sparing.

Vernazza rolled her shoulders before putting on a pair of boxing gloves. Neither of them would be happy if they hurt their hands or broke one another's noses. Close quarters combat had always been her weakest suit, though she worked tirelessly to improve. She was naturally agile, which was abetted by her years of dance experience.

When Ivory had put her own gloves on, she stood at one side of the ring. Vernazza quickly joined her at the opposite side.

Their spar was brief, for the first two rounds. It usually only went until one pushed the other outside the bounds of the ring. It wasn't how it was done in the Academy, but neither of them had any interest in hurting each other. They were both pretty hardy, but a punch in the jaw still hurt.

Vernazza insisted they use swords as well, since that was another aspect of her combat skills that needed work. She could beat every other girl her age, but she knew that wouldn't be enough. Some of the kids she would have to fight in the Games would be eighteen and built like a house. She needed to be able to overpower them if she wanted to get out of the Arena alive.

"You should watch out for some of the other trainees," Ivory said as their swung their wooden practice swords together. "A lot of them hate you. Tan has been talking to me about it. A lot of his friends and the people he trains with won't stop talking about you."

"What is it this time, because I didn't get into the academy until I was nearly twelve, or because I managed to get chosen three years after I joined?"

"Both." She grunted as Vernazza swung the sword in a downward stroke onto her waiting defence. "I think, too, that they don't view you as a 'real Career' because you're not five and a half feet of pure muscle and strength."

She snorted. "Of course that's what it is. Well, they can bite me, if they have a problem. I'm going into the fucking Games, and if any of them try and stop me, they're going to have an issue." With that, she dropped her sword, lowered her shoulder, and drove at Ivory. She hit her in her sternum and pushed her back out of the ring and onto her back.

Her friend groaned and then started laughing, despite the fact that it had knocked the wind out of her.

"I'm sure you will," she said as she sat up. "I can imagine why they're all too chicken to actually say it to your face."

She snorted and smiled before helping her friend up. "You want something to drink?" she asked.

"Sounds good to me."

When the two of them went back inside, they found her mother in the same place, reading the same book. Vernazza wasn't even sure if she had even turned the page.

"You okay, mom?" she asked.

"What?" she looked up at them. "Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just… distracted. Hard to believe my daughter's going into the Hunger Games. And so soon, too. You're making us all very proud."

Vernazza smiled at her. "Thanks, mom."

She got herself and Ivory drinks and the two of them went back outside, sitting on the back porch.

It was nearly dark now, and the streetlights were beginning to come on.

"Wonder what the Arena will look like," Ivory said. That was always her favorite thing to ruminate about when it came to the Games. "You know they usually do something special for the Quarter Quell."

The two of them had never been alive for one before, but they had seen recordings of them often enough. They made a point to show all the Games District Two won in the past fifty years every year at the Academy, and since there was a Quell this year, they had watched some of those Games as well.

"I dunno," she replied. "Maybe it'll be all underwater, and they'll modify our lungs so we can breathe."

Ivory laughed. "Don't be stupid. Like—the one time, where the whole Arena would reshuffle, like a labyrinth or something! Oh that was so cool. Every day you'd wake up and nothing was where it ought to be. I always wondered how they did that."

Vernazza shrugged.

"Or what about the one where the Arena got smaller and smaller every day! That was exciting. Kept everyone on their toes when they saw the forcefield approaching, huh?"

She looked over at her friend. "You're an idiot," she said teasingly.

She grinned and blew a kiss to her. "You bet."

* * *

 **Keiynan Edgar**

 **Present Day**

Keiynan was up before dawn. This, of course, wasn't particularly uncommon for him, but he had been slacking the past couple of days because he was supposed to be brushing up on some skills before he went to the Capitol. He had been _exhausted_ , so he hadn't felt like getting up super early for the past week.

But it was Reaping day. He wanted to see Valia before he went to the Square, and his parents would be pissed if he spent the morning hanging out with "the Greenhorn girl."

So he got up, dressed in some of his normal clothes, and went down into the still-dark street. There was some excitement shooting in his veins, little bursts of adrenaline as he thought about what was going to happen this morning. He had his sketchbook in his shoulder bag he had, and his pencils and things. He wanted to draw District Two, on the last day he'd see it before the Games. When he returned, he'd either be a Victor or a corpse. It seemed appropriate.

He found Valia in their usual spot. It was one of the few arboretums spread about the capital of District Two. She was sitting in their favorite tree, her legs swinging aimlessly over the edge of the branch as she watched the sunrise. She had gotten a lot better at climbing trees since they first met.

As Keiynan climbed up the hill, he waved to her.

"Good morning, Chosen Tribute," she said, mimicking the deep, unflattering voice of their mayor.

He grinned. "Good morning, citizen," he replied, imitating the accent of the Capitol.

He climbed up into the tree beside her, and she hugged him. "You ready?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

He took his sketchbook and pencil out, flipping through a few old drawings. A picture of the Academy, a drawing of Valia, his mother, his crush Quintin Palomaro, a bird that made its nest outside his window in the spring.

"What are you gonna draw today?" she asked, leaning over and looking at the drawings.

"I wanted to draw the skyline," he said. "I can actually see the sun come over the buildings here, so…"

She nodded.

As he started sketching out the edges of the dark skyline, the couple of tall Capitol-like buildings, the Justice Building, the prison, Valia started talking. She never really liked silence between them.

"I hope the Careers are decent this year," she said.

"I'm sure they will be. They usually are."

"Well, last year they were absolutely useless."

He shrugged. "If they're not, I'll _make_ them decent."

She smiled. "With your boundless wit and charm."

"Hey. I can take control and be a leader if I need to. I just… can't make friends, is all."

She rolled her eyes. "Good luck with that."

"I'm from District Two. Chances are, I'm the biggest and brawniest of them, so they'll naturally look to me as leader."

"And what about the other girl? Vernazza?"

"She's skinny as all hell, but she's fast and good with a bow. She'll be useful, hopefully. Everyone else hates her, though, since she's not typical of our District, and she's super young."

"Right. I think I remember you mentioning her. And what about you? Do you resent her since she's not big and strong like some of the others?"

He shrugged. "I guess a little. But the ones who are strong tend to be stupid too."

"Don't I know it."

He punched her gently in the arm. "So maybe she'll be beneficial. I'm a little worried about how young she is, and about how late she entered the Academy. It's weird. But I guess if she moved up so fast she's gotta have some skill to justify it."

Valia nodded. "I'm sure she'll be good."

"You excited to go to the Capitol?" she asked then, after a while of watching him draw.

He nodded. "It'll be cool," he said. "Eat their food, ride their trains, wear their fashion."

She snorted, but Keiynan let it pass. She usually was less than approving of the Capitol, but he tried to ignore it, for the benefit of their friendship.

They spent an hour or two like that, sitting in the tree branch, talking aimlessly as the sun rose. Sometimes about the Games, sometimes about other things. Sometimes it devolved into senseless gossip about something that was going on at school.

Eventually, though, it was about time they went back home and got ready. Keiynan slid off the tree branch aside Valia.

"I'll see you at the Reaping," she said, waving.

He waved back and went to his house. He bathed and changed into his Reaping clothes before joining his parents out in the living room.

As they got to the Square and Keiynan moved to go to the registration line, his father grabbed him by the shoulder. "Just a minute, Keiynan," he said. "Your mother and I are very proud. We knew that you could be a Career, if you worked hard enough. Let's see if you've got what it takes."

"Thanks, dad," he said. It wasn't an "I love you," or even so much as a "You did good," but it made his heart soar nonetheless. His parents really only ever seemed to care about his training, about how likely he was to become the Chosen Tribute, and he had always tried to please them. Really, that was one of the only things in life he cared about. He wanted to make his parents proud of him. He wanted to be the Tribute they wanted. They had always had their doubts, since he had always been smaller than a lot of the other boys at the Academy, and had wanted to draw more than train at first, but this was what he was destined to be, he knew it.

He went over to the Registration line, looking around for Valia, or for Oli and Duke. Someone he could pass the time with. No one appeared, though, and he assumed that Valia had gotten there before him and was either near the front of the line or was already in the roped off section. Of course, that made him a little sad, considering the fact that she was eighteen, and he was seventeen. Maybe he could stand near the back and she the front, so they could talk, or at least feel the comfort of one another's presence.

He kept feeling anxiety flare up. He was worried something might go wrong, someone might Volunteer in opposition to him. He was a little anxious, too, to be up on that stage, with all of Panem watching him. He would have to act tough, he'd have to put up the Career facade he almost always wore, the facade he could only really take down around Valia. He had to make sure he looked like a Victor, a leader, someone the other Tributes would have to be scared of, someone the other Careers would respect.

He barely felt the pinprick of the needle on his fingertip as his blood was drawn, and walked without thinking towards his section. He kept clenching and unclenching his hands, letting out controlled breath after controlled breath, trying to keep himself calm. _Why_ was he so anxious anyway? It wasn't like anything was going to happen. He had thought about the exact sequence of events of the Reaping since he had been Chosen, and there was very little that could go wrong.

The anthem was blaring across the enormous square. It had been cleared of its usual street vendors and public art displays in order to fit however many citizens of District Two there were, and the stage had been erected in front of the Justice Building.

As the anthem went on, Mayor Pascal, the escort Darling Hill, and the two mentors Deavon Enshin and Macabre Nifterik climbed up onto the stage and took their seats. Darling looked practically ecstatic in their bright neon jumpsuit, their green-lipped grin practically glowing in the sun. The fashion of the Capitol was something Keiynan was used to seeing, of course, but sometimes Darling really overdid it, even by his standards.

He made his way to the back of the seventeen-year-olds pens, looking around for any sign of Valia. He found her making her way to the front, as if she had read his mind. This was something they had done almost every year, and this time was the most important. She would want to be there next to him when he Volunteered.

The anthem repeated itself a few more times as the stragglers wandered into the sections, and then Mayor Pascal approached the microphone. He cleared his throat and then smiled.

"Good morning," he said. He adjusted his shirt before continuing. "Now for the annual reading of the Treaty of Treason."

Keiynan thought for the briefest of moments that he heard a groan from the general audience, but he might have imagined it. If it had been real, it wouldn't have surprised him. District Two was always impatient to get to the Reaping.

Evidently the mayor thought it was as boring as the rest of them did, because he ran through it with uncharacteristic speed. It ended up being significantly shorter than he remembered it being in other years. All the better, because it was easily the most boring document in Panem.

Almost the same moment he got the last word out, Darling sprang up and took his place at the microphone. "Thank you, Mayor Pascal!" they said, grinning at the crowd. "Are we ready to get down to business?" There were cheers and whoops, and Keiynan could almost _feel_ Valia rolling her eyes from behind him.

"You ready?" she whispered to him as Darling drank in the cheers.

He nodded. She reached forward across the rope and took his hand, squeezing tightly. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at her.

"As a reminder to everyone of the Quarter Quell this year, the name I draw is _not_ the same name as the person who is being Reaped. They will instead choose someone from their age group to replace them. Once they've picked someone, as per every other year, an interested party may Volunteer as Tribute. Unlike every other year, thanks to the rather vague nature of our Quell card, the Volunteer may be of any gender. Now let's get started. Ladies first!"  
With that, they crossed the stage to the ball containing the girls' names. They fished around for a moment—only a moment, of course, because they knew how this would play out just like everyone else—and then zipped back to the microphone. They cleared their throat before announcing "Nox Kleid!"

From the crowd of sixteen-year-olds emerged probably one of the skinniest people Keiynan had ever seen. She hurried up the stairs to the stage and Darling smiled at her. "Do you have a name, sweetheart?"

"Dell Seymour."

Another sixteen-year-old stepped out, but before they could start towards the stage, Vernazza's voice rang out "I volunteer!"

Once again, Keiynan was reminded just how fucking young she was. A part of that grated at him, since he had met seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds who would probably be just as capable as her in the Academy, but he shoved it down. He hadn't seen her sheets, he hadn't seen the final fight, and he trusted the trainers to make the right decision.

She stepped up to the stage and traded places with Nox.

"What's your name, honey?" Darling asked. Keiynan wondered, briefly, how much restraint it took for the escort not to use "Darling" as a pet name.

"Vernazza Riviera," she said. Her voice showed no room for argument. Obviously she was sure of her place, and she wasn't about to let anyone else challenge her. If there was fear or uncertainty in her heart, she was careful not to show it.

"Congratulations, Vernazza," they said. Then, with that same blinding smile, they went to the boys' bowl.

Keiynan's heart was thumping, and he felt Valia squeeze his hand. He felt like a fourth grader having to give his first report, with the eyes of _both_ of his crushes focused only on him.

Darling read out, "Dzhabrail Csonka!"

 _This Quarter Quell makes the Reapings go so much slower_ , he thought distantly.

Dzhabrail spoke another name, and Valia squeezed his hand one last time.

His stomach dropped as he realized he had stopped paying attention and was a moment behind when he had wanted to call out to Volunteer.

Finally, he threw his arm up. "I volunteer!" he shouted. He went to the edge of the pen and the Peacekeepers let him out. He had about thirty feet to regain his composure so he didn't look like a scared nine-year-old giving a book report. He had to look like a Career. Hardened and ready to kill.

But that wasn't really him, was it? He had never been as bloodthirsty as the others had, he knew he wasn't the most ready to win the Arena.

But none of that mattered now. It _couldn't_ matter now. He went quickly up to the stage, his face melting into that oh-so-familiar mask of certainty and coldness.

Without even waiting for Darling to ask, he lowered his mouth to the microphone. "My name is Keiynan Edgar," he said. Was he imagining things, or did his voice sound deeper than usual?

"Perfect. Wonderful. Now, shake hands!" With that, Darling stepped back, and he and Vernazza met eyes.

They shook hands, and Darling once again took the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Tributes from District Two!"

There was uproarious applause and the cameras circled them, drinking in their faces, leaving plenty of time for the commentators to make snarky remarks or take note of this or that.

And then just like that, they were being whisked off the stage and into the Justice Building.

* * *

 **Vernazza Riviera**

 **Present Day**

As Vernazza sat down in the posh room meant for goodbyes, she let out a breath she had probably been holding since she had Volunteered. She had been worried the whole time that Dawn—or someone else—would Volunteer against her. If that happened, there would have been a brawl, and there was _no way_ she would have won that one.

Her mother and father came in, followed closely by her brother Julius, and she stood. She wanted to go to them and hug them, but her and her family had never really been particularly affectionate. But when her father opened his arms, she rushed into them and smiled in relief. Her mother wrapped her arms around her as well.

"You're going to be amazing," she whispered.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

They sat down, and her parents, always business first, immediately launched into strategy. That only lasted so long until good old sentimentality seemed to take over and they started telling her about how proud they were.

Once it seemed as though her parents had worn themselves out of their talking, Vernazza's brother finally spoke up. "I want you to have this," he said, extending a hand. He opened it, and on his palm sat a gold ring.

Her eyes widened. "Really?" she asked. This was one of his most prized possessions. Her and her brother had never really been all that close, but their relationship was a lot warmer than her relationship with her parents. Sometimes she just found him to be too energetic and capricious to be around. But _this_ almost made her teary-eyed.

He nodded as he put it in her hand. It was a level of sentimentality that was uncommon in their family, and suddenly it seemed like the full weight of all this came crashing down on her. She was going into the Hunger Games. She might not come back. And this was what her brother wanted her to have while she was there. Her last possession if she died.

She turned it over in her hand, reading the inscription over and over again: _Audaces fortuna iuvat._ Fortune favors the bold.

"Thank you," she whispered. She squeezed it in her hand for a moment before slipping it on, having difficulty finding a finger it would fit on.

Finally, their time was up, and they hugged her one more time before leaving.

Next, of course, was Ivory. It was much the same, only Ivory—ever the emotional one—burst into tears.

It almost made Vernazza choke up, seeing her best friend so obviously worried about her safety. Most of their time was spent in silence, shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped tightly.

And then, just like that, she left as well. She wasn't sure if she was expecting more people to come say goodbye, but as the Peacekeper came and alerted her it was time to go, something deep in her chest deflated, and she felt like she was going to cry again.

* * *

 **Kieynan Edgar**

 **Present Day**

Keiynan had barely sat down before his parents came in. His mother, for probably the first time in her life, was beaming. His father, though wearing his usual gruff expression, looked a little more relaxed than usual.

"You're going to be the pride of District Two," his mother said, sitting down. "You're going to come back victorious, you're going to show all these fools that you don't have to be tall and emasculated to be a Victor."

He nodded along, smiling. At least she was proud of him for once.

The rest of their time together was spent much the same. There was little in the way of "I love you" or emotional goodbyes like that. It was all praise at his strength and willpower, all strategy and lecture. By the end of it, he was thoroughly exhausted.

And then, of course, Oli and Duke came in. They were all grins and congratulations, the usual macho-man stuff that was expected of Careers.

He managed to smile and laugh with them, make jokes back and forth, and after a little while, some of their energy seemed to rub off on him, and he felt a little lighter.

Then, of course, Valia came in. She smiled for him, of course. She always did, but he knew her well enough. He could see the panic behind her eyes, the grief. He didn't have to ask to know why.

Even if he did come back, nothing would ever be the same. She would have to watch him kill in the Arena. Would their friendship change forever? Would killing in the Arena change _him_?

He panicked as he thought about that, but then pushed it aside. No way. They were too close to let something like that come between them… right?

"You'd better be careful in there, shorty," she said.

He smiled. "I'm gonna. I'm gonna be the best damn Tribute anyone has ever seen."

She actually laughed, but it was empty. "I'm sure you will. Just be smart and… be careful not to lose yourself in there, okay? The Arena changes people. I don't want you to become some freak."

"I won't." He spread his arms and grinned. "Come on, what could happen?"

They talked idly for a while, and then they just sat in silence. Finally, she spoke up again, reaching into her pocket. "I stole this from my dad," she said. She withdrew her hand and in it was a watch—a really, really nice watch.

"Holy shit," he said. "Why did you steal this?"

She shrugged. "Seemed like it would be entertaining. And besides, how else are you gonna keep track of time in the Arena? A sundial?"

He nudged her. "Like that would ever happen." He paused. "Thanks, Valia. You're the best friend a bitch could have."

She rolled her eyes. "I know."

She left, soon, after a final hug and some parting words and maybe a few tears, and then Keiynan was alone. He expected a Peacekeeper to come and tell him it was time to go, but the next time the door opened, it wasn't a Peacekeeper.

It was Quentin Palomaro, the guy he had a crush on. The guy who kind of had a crush on him back.

When they had mutually spilled their guts about what they felt about each other, Keiynan had thought there might have been something there for them. But Quentin thought it would be too complicated, so they had decided to leave it be.

And now here he was, saying goodbye before Keiynan went off to the Hunger Games.

"Um… hi, Keiynan," he began as he shut the door behind him. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Listen, I don't have a whole lot of time, but I'd never forgive myself if I didn't come say goodbye. So I guess I just wanted to tell you…" He let out a breath and made a face. "If you come back. I think we should… you know. Go and get dinner sometime. That would be cool. If you're up to it. I mean, I know you and that Greenhorn girl are like… really close—"

"Not like that," he said, interrupting him. "Valia and I are just friends." Even if they _were_ dating, Keiynan didn't think he'd be opposed to dating more than one person at a time. Especially if it were _Quentin fucking Palomaro_.

"Oh. Okay. Cool. So… does that sound good?"

"Dinner? Oh. Yeah. It sounds great."

"Cool. But you have to win, okay?"

"Yeah. Definitely. I'll do my best."

Quentin paused, and he bit his lip. "You're gonna kick ass in there, you know," he said quietly.

Keiynan actually blushed. "Thanks," he said, looking down and away from him to hide his suddenly red cheeks.

"And this isn't like… binding or anything. If you have someone else in mind, or whatever… don't… don't feel like you have to come have dinner with me or something. I'm sure you'll be very popular if you become the Victor."

He shrugged, but couldn't find words.

He stood there a moment, as if waiting for something. "Well… bye, I guess," he said finally, going to the door.

"Bye." He watched him go and then sat back, his head spinning. Had they really just done that? Had Quentin Palomaro really come in and suggested they get dinner if he come back? And had he been waiting for… a kiss or something?

Holy shit, holy shit, _holy shit_.

Keiynan didn't have time to recover because a moment later the Peacekeeper opened the door.

"Time to go," she said, her voice low and cold. He stood up and followed her, his mind dazed and barely feeling where he was going. As they left the Justice Building, though, he remembered what he was doing there, and he moulded his face into the unemotional mask of pure muscle and intimidation.

As they reached the train station, it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Everything had gone perfectly, everything was right. He was on the train, he was going to the Capitol.

But it was soon replaced by a heavier, much more terrifying weight.

He was going into the Hunger Games.

* * *

 **A/N: Whoo! This was Vernazza from** _ **Featherflight123**_ **and Keiynan from** _ **basicgay!**_ **I hope this chapter was okay, I'm really struggling with writer's block but I'm trying to keep my head above the water and update regularly so I don't fall off of this project like i do with literally everything else lol.**

 **Someone brought to my attention a lapse I had in explaining worldbuilding in the last chapter, so I wanted to clear it up! In my version of the world (which I copied from Sydni basicgay) two tributes can win, so long as they're from the same District. So that was why Dazzle wanted to go into the Games with her boyfriend, so they would have a better chance of coming back together!**

 **Anyway, let me know what you thought of this chapter! Hopefully I'll get the next one up by Monday. I also start class on the 19th, so I'm not sure if my updating will become a little less regular by then, but we'll see! ~~**


	5. The Bull and the Gecko

**Mirabel Holtz**

 **Ten months ago**

Mira hovered awkwardly around the door of the kitchen while her mother cooked. She was trying to raise her courage, trying to find her voice, or, at least, wait until her mother noticed her.

She had been fighting with herself for _days_ , trying to determine if this would be the right choice. What if she didn't take it well? What if she hated her, denied her, kicked her out, or worse?

What was she more afraid of, going the rest of her life without her mother knowing, or the change telling her would bring?

As her mother turned, she finally noticed her. "Oh," she said. Then, worry settled on her brow. "What is it? You're shaking like a leaf."

Was she? Mira looked down and saw that her knees were practically knocking together.

"Um, mom—" she stopped, almost swearing as her voice cracked.

She came over and put her hands on her shoulders. "Dyn, what is it?" she asked. Her voice was so gentle, so concerned, but her use of _that_ name almost made her recoil.

"Actually, mom, I don't—I don't think I want to be—I mean, I don't think I _am_ … a boy. Anymore. I'm a girl."

Mira didn't know what she had been expecting. Confusion, maybe? Uncertainty? Anger, even?

But instead, there was understanding. Like something had finally clicked in her mind.

She nodded. "I thought this day might come," she said quietly.

"You—you did?"

She smiled and went over to the table. She sat down, wrapping her shawl around herself. "Sit down, sweetheart. You're making me nervous, standing around like that."

After a moment, Mira did, sitting across the table from her.

"I had started seeing… signs. My sibling, you know, told our family what they were not long before you were born. Of course, I know that their journey isn't exactly like yours, but there is some overlap."

She didn't know what to say, so she just said, "Oh."

Her mother smiled. "I want you to know that I will always love you. No matter if you're my son, my daughter, or just my child. I want you to be happy, and be able to live as who you are."

Her eyes filled and she couldn't help but smile. "Thanks, mom," she said quietly.

"Of course, I want to be able to do what I can for you, and I'm going to do whatever I can, but I don't know how long it will take until we can afford transitional therapy."

"I know mom," she said, wiping her eyes. "I don't care. I'm just glad you accept me, is all."

"Oh, my love." She stood up and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. "I'll always accept you."

After a moment she pulled away and went back to her cooking. "Is there something new you'd like to be called?" she asked then.

"Mirabel," she replied. "Mira, for short."

"That's lovely," she said. "Sometime soon we can take a trip to the Justice Building and get your name changed. And then once you turn sixteen, we can get your gender marker changed."

Her smile widened and her heart soared. "That would be amazing," she said. She stood up and went to the stove. "Thank you. Thanks so much. I love you."

"I love you too," she said, looking up at her. "Now go set the table."

Immediately after dinner, Mira went next door and knocked. It was late, but Ashla's parents knew that they tended to hang out at odd hours sometimes.

It was Ashla who opened the door, for which Mira was relieved. Her smile was wide. "Hi, hon," she said.

"Hi," she replied. "I told my mom."

Her eyes brightened. "Yeah?" she said, stepping aside and pulling her by the hand inside.

"Yeah, and she was just… so cool with it. Apparently she saw it coming?"

"That doesn't surprise me." She followed her upstairs and sat with her on the bed.

"She said we're going to get my name changed, and when I turn sixteen, we're going to get my gender marker changed."

"That's good," she said, smiling. "I'm real proud of you, Mira."

"Thanks," she replied. She leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Oh, shucks."

A few days passed, and while Mira's mother sometimes slipped up with her name, she was always quick to apologize and fix it. Mira didn't mind. She knew that it was hard, calling your child something else after fifteen years.

They were getting ready to take a trip down to the Justice Building to change her name, and Mira was practically buzzing with excitement. She could finally grow her hair out and wear skirts and dresses around her mom, rather than just wearing them around Ashla.

She was still in the closet to pretty much everyone but her mom and her girlfriend, but with her mom's support, and a legal name change on the way, she felt a lot more confident in fully embracing who she was.

Ashla knocked on the door a few minutes before she was going to leave. Mira stepped out onto the porch with her.

"Hi," she said.

"You wanna come hang out with me? Darwin said there's a party this afternoon, I was thinking we could go."

"Oh. Actually, Ashla, my mom and I were going down to the Justice Building to get my name changed. I think it's gonna be a few hours. Sorry." She bit her lip as her chest puffed up. This type of thing always ended the same way, and she hated having to deal with it whenever her plans didn't match up with whatever was on Ashla's schedule.

Immediately, her friendly, loving smile dropped, and she started frowning. "Oh. Well. Maybe if you hurry it up we can still go to the party."

She shrugged. "Maybe. Don't wait up for me, though. You go have fun. I wouldn't want to hold you back."

Ashla took her hand. "But I wanted to go with _you_! You know how lonely I get." She looked up at her with those big wide eyes, pleading.

Mira's heart broke. "I'll try," she said, kissing her knuckles. "But don't count on it. We can hang out some other time. We _are_ neighbors."

She was about to respond when Mira's mom came out. "Good afternoon, Ashla," she said, smiling.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Holtz."

"Are you ready to go, Mira?"

She looked up at her mom. "Yeah, just a second." She kissed Ashla on the cheek. "Bye. Go have fun. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

She sighed and let go of her hand. "Yeah, whatever." She went down the porch and back inside her house, and Mira sighed as well.

"Everything alright with you two?" her mom asked.

"Yeah, she's just disappointed I can't go to this thing today."

"Well I would think she'd be excited for you getting your name changed."

She shrugged, following her mom down the steps and onto the sidewalk. "I dunno. She's just disappointed."

That, of course, was an understatement. Ashla had a bad habit of demanding that she drop everything for her, but when Mira needed her, sometimes she couldn't be bothered. It sucked, of course, but it wasn't a big deal. Mira could manage, and when things weren't like that, her and her girlfriend's relationship was _great_. Things like that came from growing up together.

She didn't realize at the time that Ashla was toxic for her, and even if she had, she wouldn't have been able to bring herself to cut her out of her life. She was one of her only friends, and with her life so in flux, she didn't want that to change. She didn't want to be alone.

* * *

 **Dot Wiliford**

 **Five years ago**

"Hey! You! Put that down!"

With a squeak Dot took off, ducking under a desk and running out the front door.

The shop owner had noticed him shoving bread and fruit into his pocket, so that meant it was time to run.

Why couldn't they understand that he needed this food to live? Why couldn't they just let him have something to eat?

The shop owner followed him out and started shouting for the Peacekeepers, which meant even _more_ trouble. He'd have to get out of this area of District Three if he wanted to be able to have some peace. If he was caught, he'd probably be whipped before being sent to an orphanage. He had heard about the orphanages in District Three from some of the other homeless kids, and that was _not_ a place he would want to go to.

He spotted an alley and ran through it, emerging onto a quiet street on the other side. He ducked quickly into a house's backyard, clambering over the short chain link fence. There, he ducked underneath a kitchen window, waiting for the Peacekeepers to go by and hoping that whoever lived in the house wouldn't find him. He'd have to make a stop back at his hiding place to retrieve his things, but after that, he was out of there.

He caught his breath and heard the heavy bootfalls of the Peacekeepers in the street, heart pounding in his chest.

After they had passed, he waited several more minutes before slowly emerging from the backyard and back onto the sidewalk. He started walking, as quick as he could without looking suspicious, back towards his hiding place. He'd had to leave his things before, since it wasn't safe to return, but it was awful and he avoided it whenever he could. Having to start over like that would sometimes make the next winter especially hard, or would bring him that much closer to starving to death.

When you have next to nothing, you cling to what you can get.

He found his hiding place, an empty, unused dumpster that hadn't had anything in it for probably years, sitting outside an abandoned TV repair store.

He gathered up his things in the ratty backpack he had had since he became homeless, and then set out. It'd probably take several days to get to a new, safe part of District Three, but he was used to such treks. He had been wandering around the District for five years. He had learned all the places to hide, where the homeless kids hung out, what places were easiest to steal from, where the Peacekeepers tended to look to round kids up. He was an old pro at it by now.

He had been on his own since he was five years old. His parents disappeared sometime in the night, and no one knew where they were, least of all their son. Eventually, he learned that there were rumors that they had been arrested for treason, but there was no way that could be true. Sure, his parents hated the Games just as much as the rest of District Three, but they weren't rebels.

Since Dot had no other family, he eventually had to move out, and survive on his own. They had tried to send him to an orphanage, but he ran away before they could.

So this was his life now.

He had been walking for two days, and had settled in underneath a back porch for the night. He was probably close to safe territory again, for which he was glad. Migrating always exhausted him.

It was probably four in the morning when a voice woke him. "What are you doing in there, child?"

The voice was that of an old woman, and as Dot scrambled awake, he saw her squatted down, pearing in at him. It was still dark out, but there was a full moon, and she held a lantern.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please don't call the Peacekeepers, I'll leave!" His eyes filled with tears and he felt a panic wash over him.

"I'm not going to call the Peacekeepers," she said, calmly. "I just want you to come out from there." She stood up and took a few steps back, and Dot quickly crawled out.

He hung his head. "I'm sorry for trespassing, ma'am," he said. He had been caught on others' property before, so he had learned how to pull the pity on them to make sure they didn't beat him for it. He sniffled a little bit. "I was just cold and tired, I needed a place to rest."

"Hush, now. Come inside. You look like you need some tea."

Dot's head shot up. That wasn't an offer he got often. Sometimes people would give him some bread or water before they sent him on his way. They always apologized and suggested the orphanage or the shelters for young kids. But tea? That wasn't something people usually bothered to share with homeless kids.

"Um—no, that's alright, ma'am. I don't need any tea. Thank you, though."

"Don't argue. Come on." She placed a hand on his back and led him inside. "Go on and sit down. Take your shoes off."

He did as he was told, looking around the kitchen. It was cozy. The walls were lined with spices and cooking things, as well as other knick knacks that she had apparently accumulated.

She went over to the stove and put the kettle on.

"Now," she said, going to stand over him. "Are you going to tell me why you were sleeping underneath my back porch?"

"I—I just needed a place to rest, that's all," he said.

"And why weren't you resting in your bed at home?"

"I haven't got one, ma'am."

"That's what I thought."

The water boiled, and she poured some tea for the two of them. She sat across from him. "You look like you need a haircut, among many other things."

He frowned and looked upwards, to where a couple of brown curls were hanging down onto his forehead. He shrugged. "I guess so."

"That will have to wait until tomorrow. I wish I had some clean clothes for you, but there hasn't ever been a ten-year-old in this house."

"I'm sorry?"

She looked down at him. "You're staying with me," she said, like it was obvious.

Dot blinked. "What?"

"I'm taking you in."

"But—aren't you going to send me to the orphanage?"

"What? God no. I was an orphan when I was a little girl. I got adopted, of course, but I know what the orphanages are like here. I don't blame you for wanting to stay on the street. But you don't have to do that anymore."

"You don't—I don't—" He didn't even know what he was trying to say, but the woman cut him off.

"Don't argue, child. Just say thank you."

"Thank you."

She smiled then. "Now, what do they call you?"

"Dot."

"Do you have parents, Dot?"

"Not anymore. They disappeared. I was five."

"My God." She sighed. "Alright, well. I'll go make up the bed for you. Just sit there and drink your tea—and don't even think about running away."

"Okay."

She went upstairs and for a moment, Dot considered grabbing his bag and making a break for it. But what if this woman really did want to help him? What if she really did want to take him in and give him a home and all the things he had been missing for five years? Would he give all that up?

So instead he just sat at the table, his teacup in his hands, waiting patiently for her to return.

When she did, she seemed pleased. "Well. The bed's made up, if you'd like to go to sleep."

He stood, nodding slightly. "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome. I'm Ruby, by the way."

"Goodnight, Ruby."

She smiled at him before he left the kitchen with his bag and went upstairs. The only room with a door open was a small bedroom, what looked like a guest bedroom. There was a small bookshelf with a few cookbooks on it, and a bed with a homemade quilt as the blanket. It was homely, but it looked dusty. Evidently Ruby didn't get many visitors.

He put his bag under the bed so it would be harder to find if she wanted to take it, before climbing under the covers.

He hadn't had a bed in so long, it felt like he was laying on a cloud. He was in the middle of a thought when he drifted off into sleep.

* * *

 **Mirabel Holtz**

 **Present Day**

There were lots of things that made living in District Three miserable. One of those things was having to get up early for the Reaping.

But today, Mira wasn't thinking about the Reaping, not really.

She was thinking about Callum.

So when she got up, bathed, and dressed, it didn't _really_ feel like a Reaping morning. She was wearing a new dress, a gift from her mother, for the first Reaping she'd be in the girls' bowl for. And it was a gorgeous dress, pastel yellow with a bow around the waist and everything. She had nearly started crying when she saw herself in the grubby mirror, freshly shaven, with her hair starting to grow out. She actually looked girly, and she lived for it. Mix that with her excitement for her coffee date, and she was practically bouncing off the walls.

Her mom was up as well, though she wasn't doing much of anything.

"I'll be back so we can go to the Reaping," she said to her mother.

"Bye, Mira," she said.

She hurried out the door, practically shaking with excitement. She had decided after breaking it off with Ashla for what was probably the fifth time that she wasn't going back, and then she realized that she had a huge crush on Callum, which took her _ages_ to figure out since she had thought up until then that she was a lesbian.

And she wasn't quite sure that he had a crush on her back, but he had asked her out to coffee before the Reaping, so maybe that meant something. She didn't have the guts to ask _him_ out, and she figured that if he liked her back, he didn't have the guts either.

She was walking quickly, clutching her coffee money in her pocket as she went. It was a short walk to the coffee shop, for which she was glad. They didn't have more than two hours before the Reaping, so she wanted to be able to get this date on the road.

She grinned when the shop came into sight. It was a dinky little place, with the owner living above it. It was probably one of the only coffee places in this part of the District, because a lot of the citizens were too poor to afford something like that. But she had been saving up for two weeks, and her mother had given her some money. She knew how important this was to Mira.

She glanced inside and saw Callum sitting in a booth, reading a book. She felt her heart flutter. That seemed to be just where he belonged: reading a book in the booth of a coffee shop, his eyebrows furrowed, his glasses slowly sliding down the bridge of his nose.

She opened the door, hearing the bell ring, and went over to the table.

She sat down across from him and he looked up, marking the page in his book. "Hi," he said, smiling.

"Hi," she replied. "How are you?"

He shrugged. "Tired. You know."

She nodded.

After a moment, he said, "You uh… want to go order something? I waited for you."

"Oh! Yeah, for sure." She gave a weak giggle before standing up.

She almost never had coffee, so she had no idea what she wanted, so she just ordered the cheapest thing off the menu and a muffin.

As they returned to their seats with their cups, Callum smiled. He had such a shy, almost apologetic smile, like he felt bad for just existing.

"So… what are you doing today?" she asked.

"Work after the Reaping, you know." He shrugged slightly.

She nodded. "Yeah, me too."

They talked and drank their coffee, and it looked like Callum was struggling with something, like he wanted to say something, and Mira kept telling herself to _not_ freak out because there was no way he was asking her out.

Eventually, though, the owner came around and told them they were closing the shop for the Reaping.

Mira quickly finished her coffee. "Well, better get going, I guess," she said, smiling.

"Hey, wait a minute," he said. He took a pen out of his pocket and scribbled something on a napkin. "Here's my phone number. Call me later, okay?"

She swallowed hard. "Um—yeah, for sure. Of course." She didn't even want to know how red her face was as she smiled at him.

After a moment of biting his lip and shuffling his feet, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I'll see you," he said quietly before leaving the shop and going down the street.

Mira stared after him, blinking and feeling like she was floating. Oh wow.

Only after the shop owner reminded her that they were closing did she finally come back to reality.

She clutched the napkin tightly in her hands and she couldn't stop smiling all the way home.

Her mom was sitting on the porch, waiting for her. She stood up when she saw Mira approaching. "How was coffee?" she asked.

"It was great," she said.

She raised an eyebrow.

"It's just—Callum's really nice, is all."

"He is."

Together, the two of them went towards the square. The closer they got, the more crowded the streets got. There were people coming from the outer areas of the District, and they all had to pile into the small square in front of the Justice Building. There was so much fear and nervousness, but Mira couldn't tell if it was more, less, or the same amount as other years. On the one hand, if your name was called, you wouldn't have to go in. On the other, there was the possibility of your name being called by the Reaped. This wasn't District Two. There was no one to volunteer for you.

Mira looked around the square as she got in line, trying to spot Callum. She supposed she should have found her dad before getting in line, but she didn't want her mood spoiled by having to see him. She'd go to lunch with him later, or something.

She hadn't had a good relationship with her dad ever since she had been old enough to understand why he left. He cheated on her mom, and she found out, and her mother would rather raise a child on her own than live with someone like that.

Mira could respect that.

And it wasn't like she hated her dad. She just didn't really get along with him, since she knew he was a bad person, no matter how many times he apologized for hurting her mom.

He had a new wife now, and two step-children, but she spent even less time around them than she did around her dad.

She didn't see Callum come into the square until she was almost at the front of the line, so it wouldn't be a good idea to get out and go stand beside him. So she let the Peacekeeper draw her blood and then went to the sixteen-year-old's section. Despite how messed up it might be, she was happy that her name was going into the girl's bowl this year. She knew her name wasn't going to be called, but still, the knowledge of it, made her so happy.

She saw Ashla as she wandered into the pen, and they instantly glared at one another.

She wished she could have realized years ago how toxic and shitty Ashla was for her as a girlfriend. If she didn't drop everything for her, she'd get guilted and yelled at—it was bullshit, and although she was glad to have gotten out when she did, there were times where she missed the consistency.

But now she had Callum, so she didn't _need_ Ashla anymore.

Of course, her ex was _pissed_ that she had found someone else to be happy with.

But she didn't care. For all Mira cared, Ashla could walk off a cliff or something.

After a moment, she broke the hate-stare and looked up at the stage. The mayor, the escort, and the single mentor were all sitting on the dinky plastic chairs behind the podium while the anthem blasted on repeat.

The mayor was a person who wasn't more than a foot across, with thick-rimmed glasses and a tired expression on their face.

The escort, an eccentric man called Manius, seemed to be talking the mayor's ear off, his brightly-gloved hands waving about in the air.

And the mentor, an older man who was probably in his sixties, was trembling in his hair, chis eyes practically bugging out of his skull. He had been severely traumatized by his time in the Games, and he barely left his house in the Victor's Village. It was a real shame he had to be a Mentor, and watch two new kids die every year. That couldn't have been beneficial to his PTSD.

Once everyone had been filed and the names placed in the bowls, the anthem faded out and the Mayor came up. They read the Treaty of Treason, of course, their voice droning on and practically putting Mira to sleep.

After that was done, Manius took their place. "Thank you for that _riveting_ reading of the Treaty of Treason!" he chirped. "And might I just say how _excited_ I am to be here? I feel like District Three has really got a chance to win this year, don't you all? I'd say it's about time we give Mr. Minara an opportunity to retire." He laughed, but no one else did.

He pursed his lips and then smiled again. "Well!" He reminded them all of the Quarter Quell twist, before extending his arms out. "Let's start with the gentlemen this year, shall we?"

He went over to the bowl and dug his hand around inside of it before withdrawing a slip.

He returned to the microphone and read out, "Manny Deneiro!"

From the section across the walkway, the fifteen-year-old section, emerged a surprisingly short guy, who walked up to the stage nervously.

Mira felt her breath let out in relief. They could only choose people from their age group. Callum was safe, at least.

"Do you have a name, darling?" Manius asked Manny.

He shook his head.

Mira frowned. Surely he knew another fifteen-year-old? Maybe he didn't want to say any names, didn't want to condemn one of his peers to die.

"Oh, that's alright! Why don't you just point your little finger into the crowd! Keep in mind, only other fifteen-year-olds!"

Biting his lip and looking like he might break down into tears, he raised a skinny finger and pointed, still silent.

Everyone instinctively moved away from the general area he was pointing.

How was this supposed to be accurate at all? Though, Mira reasoned, the Capitol probably didn't really care about _who_ got picked, so they'd just grab whoever they felt like.

And that's exactly what they did. The Peacekeepers moved into the crowd and grabbed probably one of the first kids they found, who started screaming and sobbing.

They had to carry him bodily out of the section, and he was still kicking and shouting.

Mira felt her heart break. He was such a skinny kid, he probably wouldn't make it out of the Bloodbath.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Manny said, starting to cry as well.

Once the Peacekeepers got the kid to the stage they let go of him, and he collapsed to his knees, burying his face in his hands and hyperventilating. Manny left the stage and quickly returned to the safety of the crowd.

Manius bit his lip and looked down at the sobbing boy. This wasn't an uncommon reaction from Tributes, especially younger ones, but he apparently didn't know what to do about it.

"Do you have a name, sweetheart?" he asked.

He didn't answer, just hyperventilated.

Manius crouched down beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He instantly recoiled, shouting and looking like a wounded animal.

Mira's throat closed. He was so scared, so panicked. He didn't deserve this. This was humiliating, and would make him an immediate target for the Career pack.

After a few moments, he finally emerged from the tight ball he had wrapped himself in.

Since Manius was away from the microphone, Mira couldn't really hear what he said, but she assumed that she was asking for his name again. The kid spoke, and Manius helped him rise.

"Say your name for the cameras, darling," he said gently, a hand on his back.

"D-D-Dot Williford," he said, choking more than once on a sob.

"It'll be alright, Dot." He ushered him to the side and tried to resume his jovial spirit, though it was difficult with a fifteen-year-old having a panic attack right beside him.

"Now for the ladies!"

He went over to the bowl, quicker than before. Apparently he wanted to get this embarrassing thing done with.

He barely moved his hand around inside before he drew a name and went back to the microphone. "Ashla Mazzali!"

Before she could stop herself, Mira said aloud "Fuck."

Surely their animosity didn't run _that_ deep that Ashla would choose her to go in?

She saw her go up to the stage, fire in her eyes.

"Do you have the name of the Tribute to replace you?" Manius asked, taken aback by her stormy expression.

"I do," she said, pronouncing every syllable as if they'd miss it. "Mirabel Holtz."

"Fuck" escaped her mouth once again.

For a moment, she didn't move, but then she saw the Peacekeepers advancing, and she didn't want to get dragged out. She went out into the walkway, hands balled into fists. She and Ashla were glaring at each other.

She came down the steps of the stage and they met in the middle.

"You're really going to do this?" Mira demanded.

"You bet I am."

"You fucking bitch!" She couldn't stop herself, she pushed Ashla.

Of course, she pushed right back, and they almost got into a fight before the Peacekeepers pulled them apart.

This wasn't fair, it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair.

The Peacekeepers kept her held tightly by the arms as they brought her up to the stage, but she shook them off.

"Well," Manius said, trying to smoothe over what was probably the _worst_ Reaping of his career. "Shake hands, the two of you."

Mira shook Dot's hand, trying to convey some comfort to him. God, he was only a year younger than she was, why did he seem so small?

They turned front again, and Mira caught Ashla's gleeful, evil look.

"One and all, I give you, the Tributes from District Three!"

With that, they were led off the stage, backed and led by the Peacekeepers, to the Justice Building. Dot was still sobbing beside her, and she wanted to reach out, hug him, do something, but she didn't want to look sympathetic. That would make her a target too. They could talk on the train, she could try and help him. He needed all the help he could get at this point.

They both did.

The door shut behind her and Mira made her way to the couch. Once she had sat down, she broke. She was crying loudly, full on _sobbing_ , something she hadn't done in ages. This was so unfair. How come Ashla got to ruin _everything_ good in her life? It wasn't fair and she wanted to pull her hair out because of it.

Somewhere in the building, she heard screams. She assumed that was Dot.

She tried to swallow her tears as the door opened, but she knew who it was so she only started crying harder.

Her mom immediately came to the couch and wrapped her arms around her. "No, no, no, no," she said, crying as well. "My daughter, no."

"I'm sorry, mama, I'm so sorry," she said, crying into her shoulder.

"You've got to come back. You've got to. _Please_."

"I will. I promise."

She could promise until her lips turned blue, but they both knew her odds.

They spent their time like that, wrapped in one another's arms, crying together.

Finally, her mother pulled away from her and stood. "I should go," she said, wiping her eyes. "I love you. You're going to be amazing."

She nodded, smiling up at her, though tears were still falling down her face.

And then she was gone.

Next, her father came in. Mira couldn't help but be thankful he was alone. She would feel awkward crying with her dad in front of her step-family.

She was angry at him, of course she was, for hurting her mom, but at the end of the day, he was still her father. And she was very likely going to die in the next month, so this would be her only time to make amends.

He had tears in his eyes too, but he was trying to choke them back.

"I wish we could have had more time," he said, sitting beside her. His hands were folded in his lap and he stared at them. He probably wanted to hug her, but he was waiting. He was waiting for her to initiate it. He knew his boundaries, he knew what he shouldn't cross.

Mira just nodded. Then, she moved over and hugged him, wanting him to cradle her like she was a little kid who had had a nightmare. Maybe if he held her tight enough she would wake up and everything would be normal, everything would be okay again.

"You're going to be okay," he said, stroking her hair.

Mira got the impression that he was doing this just as much for his own comfort as for hers.

Eventually, he left too, and then Callum came in. His eyes were red, too, and that sent Mira into another spiral of sobs.

He immediately came over and wrapped her up in a hug, leaning down and holding her close. "Sh," he whispered, stroking her hair. "It'll be fine. I know it'll be fine. It has to."

She shook her head. She could pretend to be optimistic for her parents, but not with Callum. He disarmed her so completely in that way. "I'm going to die," she whimpered. "I'm going to get murdered and I'll never see you or my mom again."

"Hey, Mirabel, don't say that, don't ever say that." His voice was surprisingly stern. Usually he was so calm and shy. "Don't give in to despair. You've got to try. _Promise_ me you're going to try?"

She looked up at him, and the look he gave her left no room for argument. "Okay," she whispered, sniffling. "I will. I promise."

He held a pinky up. "Pinky promise?"

She laughed, choking down a sob. She hooked their pinkies together and nodded. "Pinky promise."

He kissed the top of her head and cradled her.

Soon, too soon, the Peacekeeper opened the door and barked to them that it was time to leave.

Callum, with a final press of his lips to her hair, stood. "I'll be rooting for you," he said quietly.

She nodded and followed him out, but they went their separate ways as Mira was led from the Justice Building and to a car that would take them to the train station. She did her best to contain her tears, to wipe her face so it wouldn't be as obvious that she had been crying. But it was next to impossible. The high-definition cameras would broadcast her "weakness" across Panem, for the Careers to see. It would get their bloodlust going. She'd have to watch out.

* * *

 **Dot** Wiliford

 **Present Day**

Dot's chest was still heaving with hyperventilation as he was led into the Justice Building. He felt lightheaded, like he was going to pass out, and he tried to breathe deeply, to get oxygen to his brain, to calm down.

The Peacekeepers who were still leading him by the arm all but dropped him on the floor in the goodbye room, where he curled up and screamed. He screamed and cried like a two-year-old having a tantrum because that was what he felt like.

The door opened, though he was barely aware of it, and Ruby came in. She knelt beside him and put a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"Dot, Dot, sweetheart, calm down. You're only making the panic attack worse. It's okay."

He just shook his head. It _wasn't_ okay, and they both knew it.

Finally, though, she managed to coax him out of his ball, and led him through some breathing exercises, and he managed to calm down. She led him to the couch and sat him down, rubbing his back.

"I know this is scary, and it's unfair, and it's not okay. But you have to try and be strong. This is going to be the hardest thing you've ever done. But you have to be strong. You have to try your best, you have to do what you can to win. No matter what, promise me you'll try and win, okay?"

He nodded, leaning into her.

She wrapped an arm around him and kissed the top of his head. "Oh, child," she whispered. "Life has been so cruel to you. I wish I could do something to fix it."

She cradled him and spoke briefly about strategy, what he could do to give himself a fighting chance, how he could impress the Gamemakers with his intelligence.

Though he knew he should be paying as much attention as he could, he was only half-listening. For the most part, he was dissociating, wishing he could be literally anywhere but here, in any reality but this one. He wanted to close his eyes and blink out of existence, and not come back until everything was right again, where he could come home with Ruby and make her tea and clean up for her. He had been doing what he could to take care of her these past few years, in thanks for her taking him in, but who would take care of her now?

When he asked her this, she simply replied, "I'll be fine. I went fifty-five years taking care of myself. And it'll only be for a few weeks. Don't worry about me."

Soon, too soon, the Peacekeeper was opening the door, saying that it was time to go to the train station.

With that, reality came crashing back and Dot starting panicking again, screaming and crying and clinging to Ruby.

She started shouting for him to let go, seeing the taser in the Peacekeeper's hands. She finally managed to pry his hands away and they all but dragged him to the car, where he banged on the window, begging to be let out. Mirabel, his District partner, leaned away from him as he started screaming, but finally Manius reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. "Stop it, or they'll be forced to tranquilize you, and none of us want that."

Although he was still panicking, he was fighting it. He was trying to control his breath, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing himself to take deep breaths. Manius was right. He _didn't_ want to be tranquilized. If he panicked anymore he would just look like an even bigger target than he already did. He'd have to get used to this nightmare. It was his reality now.

* * *

 **A/N: Here's the District Three tributes! Mirabel is from** _ **TheEngineeringGames**_ **and Dot is from** _ **AuthorHime**_ **! It was fun to get out of the Career Districts (since I already have Four written) so I could do some heartfelt and sad goodbyes. Both of these characters deserve so much better and I had so much fun writing them.**

 **Let me know what you think!**


	6. The Barracuda and the Stingray

**Mica Carrack**

 **One Week Ago**

"Come on, Julien, you got this!"

"Take him down, Carrack!"

A swing coming from the left; duck. It came almost automatically to Mica, ten years of training at the Academy having long since refined his dodge reflex.

His opponent, Julien Henrikksen, wasn't quite fast enough to avoid the follow-through delivered by Mica's right fist. He felt his knuckles connect with jaw, and the force rippled up his arm.

Even though they were both wearing boxing gloves, a little trail of blood came from Julien's chin as he backed up to avoid another blow.

A misstep—an opening. Mica, his eyes cold and face blank, shot forward and around while Julien tried to regain his balance in time.

It wasn't enough. His arms were already caught up in Mica's hands, and he was kicking his legs out from under him.

He tried to keep his weight from crushing Julien, but he still landed pretty hard on his face.

The ref, Adalya McCoy, knelt beside them as Henrikksen struggled to wriggle away, swearing gruffly.

"Say you yield, man," Mica said through clenched teeth, his muscles straining with the effort.

"No!"

A twist of the arm, a yelp of pain, and then "Fine! Fuck! I yield, _I yield_!"

McCoy tweeted her whistle and Mica let go, standing up and nursing one of the many small injuries he had incurred during the fight, even as pride welled up in him.

Of course, the final fight between the top two wasn't the defining factor in who was chosen, but it leaned the odds pretty heavily in their favor.

He couldn't help but smile as he spotted Brent and Rhys whooping their asses off for him. He turned to Julien, who was wiping blood from his face, and extended his arm.

"Good job," he said. "If there's one person in this Academy I'd want representing Four, you'd be it."

"Thanks man, same to you," Julien said, though Mica didn't think he meant it. They shook hands and he descended from the ring, going over to the bleachers where Brent and Rhys were running to meet him.

"You beat his ass, dude!" Rhys said, dropping into a mock fighting stance and pulling a few punches. "You had him crying!"

He rolled his eyes as they went towards the locker room so he could get changed.

"You think you've got a shot?" Brent asked as Mica.

"I mean, maybe. Henrikksen's good, though, so I'm not a hundred percent."

The two of them stayed by Mica's locker while he quickly showered, calling to him across the empty room.

"You want to go celebrate?"

"Sure dude. What'd you have in mind?"

"I dunno. Find something to smoke and go smoke it?"

"That's _always_ what you want to do, Rhys."

" _And_? It's a special occasion."

"You're an idiot."

That night, Mica was seated in the gymnasium of the Academy, where metal chairs had been set up. He was sitting with his grandmother, sister, Rhys, and Brent, waiting for the trainers to announce the Chosen Tributes. He was shaking a little bit, and his grandma took his hand gently in hers.

Rhys flashed one of his big, stupid smiles at him as the microphone crackled to life.

The quiet murmuring of the crowd diminished.

Really, there weren't a whole lot of people here. The Academy students were supposedly required to come, but a lot of them—the bitter ones—didn't bother. It was usually just the top two or three students and their assorted families and friends.

The Head Trainer, Butcher Sebrian, took the stage. There was an envelope in their hand. That was for show, of course; all the trainers knew who the Chosen Tributes were.

"Good evening," they said. After a moment of microphone feedback—which made everyone cringe—they lowered their lips to it again. "Good evening," they repeated, an unamused smile on their stark face. "Welcome to the Chosen Victor's Ceremony. As you know, tonight we will choose the two lucky young people who will represent our District in this year's Hunger Games. It was a _very_ close race this year. I'd like to congratulate all of the trainees who worked so hard this year, and for those of you who are aging out of the Reaping bowls, you will be missed. You have all worked hard, and District Four is stronger with you in it."

It was the same speech every year, always delivered in Butcher's monotonous, toneless voice. It was one thing for it to be rehearsed, but the least they could do was add some pizzazz into it.

"Now, for what you're all here for." They drew out the card—which was probably blank—from the envelope. Without even looking at it, they continued, "This year's chosen Victors are Theodosia Berkowitz and Mica Carrack."

Mica's heart skipped a beat as he heard his own name come through the speakers. His grandmother squeezed his hand and Tyla suppressed a squeal of delight.

Rhys punched his shoulder lightly and Brent said "Alright!" just a little too loud.

There was a round of applause and Mica went up to the stage.

The other girl, Theodosia, joined him. Her face was heavy and serious, but her eyes held a viciousness that he had never seen.

They shook hands with one another, and then with Butcher, and stood in the light for everyone to applaud them again.

Mica felt a little like crawling out of his skin at all the attention, but he knew he'd have to get used to it.

He was about to get _very_ famous.

* * *

 **Riva Lamelle**

 **Two months ago**

"You did good out there today, Riva," Jorah said, handing her a wet washcloth.

"I nearly lost," she replied, dabbing the blood from her brow.

"But you didn't."

He pressed a wad of bills into her hand. "You're doing good, you know. Just be careful. We can't have you tapping out now. If you get injured, who's gonna win the Games this year?"

A fire lit in Riva's chest. She had to become the Chosen Tribute. She had to go to the Arena. And she had to win. _For Destan._

"There's that spark," Jorah said, smiling. "Come on. Let's get you home."

He started leading her outside, looking up and down the street for any Peacekeepers, and then back towards her home by the docks.

The night was cool, especially for this time of year, but the moon was out, lighting the way.

After a few minutes of silence, Riva finally spoke up. She had been thinking about how to ask this question for a week now. It almost didn't seem like it needed asking, that the answer would be obvious, but she had to know. She had to hear it from his mouth.

"Jorah?"

"Yes, Barracuda?"

"If I go into the Games— _when_ I go into the Games. Will you look after Destan for me?"

He gave her a look. "Of course, I thought that was established."

"I know, but I just—"

"Wanted to make sure." He nodded. "Yeah, I get that."

"And… if I don't come back… promise you won't put him in a home." She looked up at him, hoping her face showed how much she meant it.

He met her eyes for a moment, and saw that fire, that fire he was so used to, and nodded. "You're gonna come back, Barracuda. But in this imaginary world where you don't, I'll look after him. I'll make sure he's okay."

"Thanks, Jorah. And thanks… for everything you do."

He rolled his eyes and smiled. "You can fall down on your knees now, if you're gonna keep doing that shit."

Riva laughed and shoved him. "Asshole."

"You know it."

As they turned the corner to their tiny, run-down shack near the docks, Riva's heart filled. Destan was on the porch, like he sometimes did while he waited for her. He was looking out over the ocean, as if he was waiting for their dad's boat to mysteriously appear over the horizon.

Riva knew he wasn't coming back, but Destan was still so young and full of hope, so she couldn't bring herself to stop him.

Once he heard their approach, he sprang up and ran to them. "Did you win?" he asked excitedly, grinning ear to ear.

"You bet your little butt I did," she replied, high-fiving him.

"When do I get to start fighting like you?" he asked, falling in step with them.

She laughed. "You ask that at least once a month, you know."

"Yeah, but I wanna know!"

"The answer's the same every time. When—"

"When I'm older, I know." He rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling.

She grinned and rubbed her knuckles against his scalp. "You hungry, kid?"

"Yeah."

"Let's have some dinner then."

"Can you shower first? You stink."

She scoffed in mock-offense and gently smacked him on the back of the head. "Don't sass me."

He stuck his tongue out at her and then ran off.

That night, as Riva was tucking Destan into bed, he looked up at her with those wide eyes of his.

"Are you gonna go into the Hunger Games?" he asked. She had told him years ago when she joined the Academy that she was gonna try and go into the Games so she could make a better life for them.

Ever since their dad stopped sending checks, she knew that there was no way working at the docks, taking tesserae, and fighting in the Ring was going to be enough to give Destan the life he deserved. She knew that the only way he'd get that life was if she went to the Arena and came back victorious.

"Afraid so, buddy," she said. "I'm gonna try, at least."

His lower lip stuck out, just a little bit. "But what if you don't come back?"

"Don't talk like that, little man," she said, running a hand over his hair. "I'm gonna come back, and then we can have cake for breakfast every day."

That prompted a smile, at least. "Promise?"

"I promise."

"And Jorah's gonna take care of me while you're gone?"

"Yep. He said he'll even teach you a couple new moves. Remember, the Games usually only last a month or so. It'll be like I never left."

He yawned. "Okay," he said.

"Night, little dude."

She stood and turned the desk lamp off, going out to the kitchen where Jorah was helping do some dishes.

"What are you doing?" she asked, smiling at him.

"Figured I'd do something useful."

"You do enough, Jorah."

She nudged him out of the way and took over. He sat down at the table, watching her for a moment. "He's gonna miss you like hell while you're out there, you know that?"

"Yeah, 'course I know."

"You know you're probably gonna have to kill people."

Riva paused, swallowing hard. "I know," she whispered after a long moment.

"You ought to get used to that."

She sighed. "I wish you'd stop being a trainer for one second, Jorah."

"I'm not saying this as your trainer. I'm saying this as your friend."

"I'm gonna do whatever it takes to give Destan what he deserves."

"Just make sure you don't lose yourself in the process."

"I won't."

The chair scraped across the dirty linoleum floor. "Hey, Barracuda," he said. He was closer now, and she turned, looking up at him. "I believe in you."

He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. It was the first time in a long time they had actually _hugged_. Riva didn't usually like hugging, except for Destan, but as she felt the closeness of another human being, one she trusted as much as she trusted Jorah, she realized that she kind of _needed_ a hug. She didn't care that her hands were wet and soapy. She just wrapped her arms back around him, shutting her eyes.

"Thanks, Jorah," she whispered.

* * *

 **Mica Carrack**

 **Present Day**

The water was absolutely _freezing_ this morning, but that wasn't enough to stop Tyla. About the only time they didn't go swimming was when it dropped below 50 degrees—which it rarely did in their part of District Four.

Mica figured that even if it were ten below, his sister still would have begged him to come out. It was Reaping Day, after all, it was the last time she'd see him for a little while. So, she had dragged him out of bed an hour before dawn so they could have their morning ritual.

"Are you gonna join the other Careers?" she asked as she floated on her back.

"I dunno," Mica said. He was standing at the edge of the shore, looking for shells. "Probably depends on who's in it this year, if they seem right."

"You should bring me something back from the Capitol when you win."

He laughed. "Alright, Tyla. I'll see what I can do." He bent and picked up a shell that had been hiding underneath some sand. "Look at this," he said.

She stood up in the water and came sloshing over to him, taking the shell from his hands. "Ooh," she said, smiling. "And it's all in one piece!"

"Here," he said. "So you have something to remind you of me when I'm in the Arena."

"You're gonna take the bracelet, right?" she said, pointing to his wrist. On it was the poorly-woven bracelet she made several years ago, with two wooden blocks in the center: one with a T, the other, an M, and a little brass stingray between them.

He smiled at her. "You bet I am," he said.

She grinned and hugged him.

He hugged her back. "Come on. We should head back soon. We both need to shower."

She sighed and detached her salty body from his. "Okay, fine. Let's go."

She took the shell from him and went up the beach, to where a towel and their shoes were sitting. The sun was coming up, starting to warm the sand and bringing that orange-pink light over District Four.

A nervous excitement shot through Mica as they made their way back home. He was going to Volunteer today. He had been working for ten years to be a Tribute, and now was the day where he was going to get on that train, go to the Capitol, and go into the Arena. And no matter how much he tried to insist to himself that he'd win, that he'd come back, that he and Tyla and their grandmother could move into the Victor's Village and live happily ever after, he couldn't deny the fact that there was a possibility that he might not come back, that something might happen, that when it came down to it, he'd face off against someone who was out of his league and he'd go down. Today might be the last day he got to swim with Tyla. Today might be the last day he hugged his grandmother, or got to see Brent and Rhys.

He took a deep breath, trying to shove those thoughts down as deep as they would go, where he wouldn't have to think about them. All that mattered right now was being prepared, was making sure he looked strong and imposing and scary when he mounted that stage, to make sure every other Tribute would know that he was a force to be reckoned with. He had been chosen for a reason.

As they got home, Mica let Tyla take a bath first. He could handle the lukewarm water. While he waited, he sat out on the couch with his grandmother.

Even though she was his grandmother, she had been the only real parental figure he had ever had in his life. Emmeline Dorsell had swooped in and scooped him and his sister out of their unstable home, away from their criminal parents, and given them stability.

In Mica's opinion, she saved their lives that day.

"How do you feel?" she asked him. Even in her old age, she still had such a youthful air about her. She was calm and serious but also loving and endearing. She must have sensed his anxiety, because she reached out and took his hand.

"I'm just nervous," was all he said. He couldn't retreat behind his walls, though. Not around her. She could see right through them like they were made of glass.

"I don't blame you. But you're going to be amazing. I'm so proud of you, and so is Tyla. I just want you to do your best to come back."

The Volunteers were lucky, in this way. They got to say their goodbyes before the Reaping. There wasn't as much of a rush, they saw it coming weeks in advance. They didn't have to condense their feelings, choose their words carefully. There was no time limit.

"I promise I will, Nan."

She leaned over and kissed him on the temple. If this were any other day, he wouldn't have let her do that.

A minute later, Tyla came out. "Nan, can you help me braid my hair?" she said, ruffling her dark curls.

"Yes, sweetheart, absolutely."

She was in a baby pink dress and black pumps. It had taken her two years to beg their grandmother to let her wear them.

She even had a little bow wrapped around her wrist.

Mica smiled. "You look great," he said, ruffling her hair as he went past her to the bathroom.

He quickly washed and dressed, all too aware of the advancing time. As much as he wanted it to slow down, to give him a minute to catch up, to breathe, it kept marching steadily on, in that way time does. Soon enough, they were standing on their porch, watching as the people streamed by them on the way to the square.

She was too old for it, but Tyla grabbed their grandmother's hand as they merged themselves into the crowd.

Although District Four wasn't the biggest District—far from it, in fact—there was a train that carried people from the North and the South ends of the District, and state-sponsored lodgings for those who stayed overnight. If the Capitol was going to force everyone in the District to crowd into the square, at least they would put them up for a night. He was lucky; it was only a half hour walk to the Square from their house by the beach.

As they reached the square, their grandmother kissed them both on the cheek, cupped Mica's face, and then went to the spectator's section.

Mica and Tyla made their way towards the line.

"I hate this part," Tyla muttered. "I wish they didn't have to draw our blood."

"I know," he said, shaking his head. "Don't worry, though. It'll be fine."

She took a deep breath and looked around.

"Hey, Mica!" Brent's voice shouted over the crowd.

He turned, and saw his friends jogging to approach.

"How you feeling, man?"

He shrugged. "Good. I mean, what's there to be nervous about?"

"You're about to go into the Hunger Games, so there's that."

"Pfft. Whatever."

"Hi Tyla," Rhys said.

"Hi," she said, waving.

"What do you think of your District partner?"

"I dunno. I haven't talked to her since the ceremony."

"Some of the others say she's really good."

"Good."

Honestly, Mica was only half listening. He was looking out at the other teenagers. There was always the security that if you were Reaped, someone would volunteer for you. He wondered what it was like for people in the other Districts that didn't ever have volunteers. He couldn't imagine living with that fear.

Eventually, they reached the front of the line.

The Peacekeepers asked for their hands, pricked their fingers, and scanned the blood print.

Then, they were waved through and sorted into their assorted age groups. It was old news to Mica; he had done it for six years.

The anthem was blaring, and the mayor, along with the two mentors and the escort, Degmar Jez, dressed in his usual tacky ice-cream colored outfit, mounted the stage.

As the anthem faded out, the mayor approached the microphone. "Good morning!" she said in her usual weirdly upbeat tone. "What a beautiful day it is!"

She took out a long, rolled-up piece of paper. Mica started zoning out again, trying to do anything but focus on his sudden nervousness. He shook his hands out, trying to calm the jitters.

Brent, noticing this, nudged him. "You okay?" he whispered to him.

"Yeah," he whispered back. "Just—what if Julien tries to take my place?"

"Then you'll beat his ass. You did it once. You can do it again."

"Yeah," he said, puffing out a breath. "Yeah."

Soon enough, the Treaty of Treason was over, and Degmar took to the stage.

"Well! Thank you Mayor Borysov! That was thrilling. Good morning District Four!"

Silence.

He cleared his throat. "I _said_ , good morning, District Four!"

There was a ripple of half-hearted "Good morning"s from the crowd, which seemed to satisfy Degmar. "Maybe we can get a Victor this year! I'm feeling lucky, aren't you all?"

Again, silence. This time, though, he didn't insist. "Well! Let's get a move on. Just to remind everyone of the Quarter Quell twist this year, the name I pull from the bowl is _not_ the one who's going to be going into the games this year. Instead, they are going to choose someone from their own age group to take their place. After the Tribute has been chosen, there will be an opportunity to volunteer. This can be done by anyone of Reaping age, just like any other year."

He clapped his hands and stepped—really, it was more like a strut—over to the ball with the girl's names in it. "Ladies first!" he chirped. He reached his hand into the bowl and made a great show of rustling around in it.

As he drew the piece of paper out and flitted back over to the microphone, he called out, "Asmond Rosenberg!"

After a moment, a kid stepped out of the fifteen-year-old section. She quickly made her way up to the stage, shaking like a leaf.

"Good morning, Asmond," Degmar said. "Do you have a name of another fifteen-year-old to come up here?" He tipped the microphone down towards her. She stood on her toes, and said, in a trembling young voice, "Um—Lestari Espinoza."

"Lestari Espinoza? Are you out there, darling?"

Mica couldn't see, but he assumed someone raised their hand.

Before the kid had a chance to get to the stage, several voices rang out "I volunteer!" at just about the same time.

Degmar, who had probably expected only one volunteer, raised his glossed eyebrows and looked out over the crowd. Then, a smile broke onto his face. "How exciting," he said. "Looks like we have—what is it, three volunteers? Come up here, darlings."

Mica's eyes widened. District Four was a Career district, sure, but it wasn't nearly as strict about Chosen Tributes like Two or One was. But even with that, it was rare that someone challenged the Chosen Tribute.

Three kids peeled out of the crowd: two from the eighteen-year-olds, and one from the seventeen-year-olds. Gutsy.

One of them was Theodosia Berkowitz, the rightful Tribute. The other was a short, solid girl, and the other, the seventeen-year-old, a tall and rather lanky dude.

As they mounted the stage, Theodosia looked like she was about ready to tear the others apart.

"What are your names?" Degmar asked. There was a sparkle in his eyes and his grin was almost… bloodthirsty. He was enjoying the hell out of this, apparently. There hadn't been a Volunteer's brawl in… probably five years.

"Theodosia Berkowitz."

The short girl leaned up to the microphone. "Riva Lemelle."

The guy actually had to lean _down_ to reach. "My name is Rajesh Sumner."

"Well. As I'm sure many of you are aware, when more than one person volunteers as Tribute, and an agreement cannot be made, the issue is solved with some good, old-fashioned fisticuffs. To the winner, the spoils."

A pair of Peacekeepers quickly cleared the stage, and the three Volunteers faced one another. Theodosia's anger was clear on her face as it twisted into something that looked subhuman. Her hands were clenched into fists, her long hair tied back.

Rajesh looked almost like he was about to buckle, apparently having underestimated the sheer magnitude of the people he would be facing. Maybe it was because they were girls, or maybe he thought he was just that good.

Riva, however, stood stock still, in a fighting stance so perfect Mica had only ever seen it in the Academy. Her face was absolutely blank, her eyes dark and focused. Even from the distance Mica could see it.

"Now, I don't want to see any dirty moves, no hair pulling, no hurting the _swimsuit areas_. Just until the two opponents yield. Ready? Go!"

With an animalistic yell Theodosia immediately leapt at Rajesh, taking him to the ground. Riva easily sidestepped, apparently content to watch the two duke it out and fight the winner. Mica wondered what the two had volunteered for. Maybe they just didn't know that there was a Chosen Volunteer. Maybe they were desperate. Maybe they were egotistical. He'd have to ask whoever won, assuming anyone could beat Theodosia. But he had seen her training a few times. Hand-to-hand combat wasn't her skillset. She was a melee fighter, for sure, but if you took a mace out of her hand, she could hold her own, but would be hard-pressed to win against someone with skill.

There was a yelp and the sound of something hard crunching, which was audible even from where Mica stood. A few of the kids at the front made noises of disgust, and one—a girl, he was pretty sure—squealed in horror. Mica stood on his toes, trying to see what Theodosia had broken on Rajesh. Probably his nose.

There was the heavy sound of an impact, some shuffling, and another yelp.

Then, Mica was sure, she started beating on him. The cameras, like vultures, hovered a few feet over the two, drinking in every gory minute as she beat down the poor seventeen-year-old.

Then, another impact, and Rajesh's strangled voice cried "Yield! I yield! Please!"

Theodosia got another good punch in before finally standing, turning to face Riva, who hadn't moved or even flinched while she watched the other two fight.

She wiped some blood from her mouth and actually _smiled_. He had seen a couple of Tributes—more than a couple, really—who seemed to get some sick pleasure out of beating other kids to a pulp. He had seen them in the Academy, too. He had beaten them. The bloodthirsty, barbaric way they went about training always seemed to be their downfall against the calmer opponents. Mica had his money on Riva, for sure.

"Come on!" Theodosia shouted, holding her arms out, as if inviting Riva to take a swing. "Show me what you got!"

"You first," Riva said. Mica had barely been able to make it out, but he assumed that the camera crew's high-tech microphones were probably amplifying the sound of their voices.

Another roar, and Theodosia doubled over, driving headfirst at Riva's stomach. Barely even picking up her feet, Mica watched her slide to the left.

He pushed his way towards the edge of the pen, trying to get a better look, but everyone else had had the same idea. The ropes were straining under the weight of two-hundred eighteen-year olds leaning on them, and the Peacekeepers started to bark for them to get back. Instead, Mica went to the front of the pen, looking over some of the shorter seventeen-year-olds.

Theodosia had recovered easily enough from her missed charge, and had instead lunged towards Riva, fist flying.

She dodged it, no problem.

Another, and another, and another. Theodosia was going wild now, just throwing punches as fast as she could.

Riva, her face unchanging, dodged every single one.

Eventually, Theodosia's Career stamina wore out, and her fatigue was beginning to show. Her stance wasn't as poised, her shoulders sagged.

This was where Riva went in.

She delivered a devastating blow to the center of Theodosia's face with the butt of her hand, causing her to reel back. She grabbed an arm and punched again, this time landing square on her chin.

Eventually, Theodosia managed to step away fast enough to regain her balance, but she was wobbling. There was blood dripping down her nose and lips, and her eyes were wild but unfocused.

"Bitch!" she shouted. "I'll fucking kill you!"

Riva had taken a few blows herself, but seemed unburdened by it. Mica assumed that this wasn't her first fistfight.

"Give it a try," Riva said. Her facade cracked, for a split second. It was confidence that showed through, ever so slightly. It was how she said it. But then he understood: she was egging her on.

Theodosia jumped forward, evidently trying to knock Riva down like she had done to Rajesh.

And that was her biggest mistake. Even though she rolled and stood up within the same instant she hit the stage, Riva had taken advantage of it.

She shot forward and twisted her arms behind her, holding them with one of her hands and the brunt of her other arm pressed up against Theodosia's windpipe.

"Yield," she said, voice level. "I can knock you out, or you can yield, take your pick."

"Fuck you!" she spat. Then, she dropped to the floor, bringing Riva with her.

Once again, Mica couldn't see exactly what was going on, but it looked like Theodosia had gotten the upper hand now.

Then, she shouted and it seemed like her back hit the stage.

Riva popped up over the heads of the crowd, and then ducked back down.

"Yield!" she shouted. "Please!"

From the sound of it, she was really pummeling the shit out of Theodosia. Mica hoped, for her face's sake, that she would yield soon.

Finally, the struggling stopped, and Riva stood. She pushed some of her short hair out of her eyes, wiped the blood from her face.

Degmar remounted the stage, microphone in hand. A few Peacekeepers carried the limp Theodosia away.

There was murmuring in the crowd as she was carried by, but the Escort's voice soon silenced them.

"Well, wasn't that exciting?" he chirped. He stepped aside and indicated Riva with a great show of theatricality. "Congratulations, Riva Lamelle, you're going to the Hunger Games!"

She let out a breath and looked over the crowd, appearing to search for something. Maybe she was looking for her family. There was a few bloodstains on her nice white frock now, and she seemed a little shaken, but her face was just as stolid as ever, despite the blossoming bruise on her eye.

"Now for the boys!" Humming some kind of song to himself, Degmar went to the other bowl, and once again over-dramatically dug his hand around. He pulled out the slip with a lot of flair, and then went back over to the microphone.

"Raphael Harford!"

There was a barely audible squeak, and the tiniest kid Mica had ever seen pushed his way out of the twelve-year-old section.

Wait a second. He _recognized_ that scrawny twelve-year-old. That was Rhys' little brother.

Raphael mounted the stage and Degmar smiled at him.

"Good morning, Raphael. Do you have a name of someone in your age group you'd like to take your place?"

He shrugged slightly. He knew it didn't matter who he picked. He knew that Mica was gonna go in no matter what. Hell, if he could choose regardless of age, he'd probably just _pick_ him to make it easier.

"Um. Christina Darbiniman."

Mica started pushing his way through the crowd. He threw his arm out into the walkway separating the pens down the middle and called "I volunteer."

The Peacekeepers let him out and he jogged up to the stage, patting Raphael on the shoulder as he passed him on the steps.

"My name's Mica Carrack," he said into the microphone.

"Wonderful!" Degmar said, flashing his freakishly pink teeth.

Riva and Mica shook hands, and the Escort put his hands on their backs. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Tributes from District Four!"

There was half-hearted applause and they were led off the stage and to the Justice Building. Mica looked over at Riva, trying to get a feel for her, trying to find something in her face, but it was set like a piece of stone.

They were corralled into two separate rooms for their goodbyes. Despite how long he had had to prepare, despite _knowing_ how this day was going to end, he still didn't feel ready. There was always that doubt in him, the possibility that maybe he wouldn't come back, that he'd leave Tyla and his grandmother behind.

A few minutes of silence and stillness passed, and then the doors opened, and Tyla and their grandmother came in.

His sister immediately ran to him and lept into his lap, hugging him tightly. He could feel by the tightness of her little thirteen-year-old body that she was close to crying. He felt a painful lump form in his throat and he squeezed her.

"Promise you'll come back," she whispered. "Promise you'll win and come back."

"I swear," he said quietly.

His grandmother sat beside him on the couch and he scooted over and leaned into her. He didn't care that he had outgrown her hugs five years ago. This was his grandmother, on his Reaping day.

"That Riva girl seems strong and capable," she said quietly, her lips up against his hair. "Stay by her, if you can. Together, the two of you could win."

He nodded. "I will, Nan," he replied.

"And I want you to find a spear. Make sure you can survive. Don't count on the other Tributes to help you. Just come back to us, darling."

He squeezed his eyes shut. "I will," he repeated.

They stayed like that, in silence, for a few minutes. Then, slowly, his grandmother took Tyla from his arms. "Good luck, Mica."

"Thank you."

With that, they crossed the room, and left.

Mica looked around the room, waiting for Rhys and Brent. He wondered if his parents had been at the Reaping. He wondered if they were even still alive. If they were there, and saw him, did they recognize him? Did they agonize knowing that their son was going into the Arena? Did they want to come and see him, for the first time in thirteen years, before he got shipped off to the Arena?

If they came, he wouldn't see them. As far as he was concerned, they were strangers.

Another few minutes passed and then Rhys and Brent came in.

"Hey, Mica," Brent said.

"Hi guys."

"How you feeling?" Rhys asked.

He shrugged. "Fine," he said. "You know how it is." He hoped they wouldn't be able to tell just how close to tears he had been.

"I hope you do good out there, man."

"Hey, if you die, can I have your stuff?" Rhys asked, grinning in that shit-eating way as he nudged him with his shoulder.

"Don't be a dumbass, Rhys. I'm leaving all my shit to my deadbeat parents."

They both laughed, and Mica smiled.

"You'll knock 'em dead out there," Brent said. "Especially with the other Careers by your side."

"Hopefully they're capable."

"Eat a bunch of Capitol food for us."

"I'll be sure to get super sick for you," he replied.

"We'll pour one out for you tonight," Rhys promised.

"Thanks." He took a moment and looked at them. His two best friends. The two guys who had stuck with him for ten fucking years. Through thick and thin, they had managed to tear down the walls he had built up around himself.

He reached out and wrapped an arm around each of their necks in a playful half-hug.

"Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone," he said, smiling at them.

"What do you mean?" Rhys replied, grabbing his shoulder in an awkward attempt to return the hug. "You're taking all the stupid with you."

* * *

 **Riva Lemelle**

 **Present Day**

As Riva was ushered into her posh room, she looked over her shoulder at her district partner. He was solid, strong. Built like a tree, with a face just as blank and unrelenting as bark. She knew he had been the Chosen Victor at the Academy this year. Hopefully he'd make a good Career. She figured with the two of them, they had a pretty good chance of winning this year.

She sat down and leaned her head back, eyes shut, trying to drown out the pain from her busted lip and black eye.

She was gonna win. If she just kept telling herself that, and pushed herself, it would have to come true.

She looked up as the door swung open. Destan came in, and there were a few tears in his eyes. Her heart broke. She almost couldn't stand leaving him, couldn't stand it with the possibility that she might not come back. But she pushed that away; any distraction at all could be deadly. She had to be calm, focused. This was just like any other fight.

Except it wasn't. The Hunger Games would be unlike anything she had ever gone through. Punching people, knocking their teeth out, for other people's enjoyment—that was one thing. _Killing_ other people for others' enjoyment was a whole new story. But this was for survival, she reminded herself. Kill or be killed. Kill or abandon Destan. Kill, and give him the life he deserved.

She wrapped him up in her arms. Even though he was an inch taller than her by now, she held him like he was five. Jorah stood in the middle of the room, waiting patiently for the siblings to get their fill of affection.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "She hit you really hard."

"I'm fine, Destan. Nothing I haven't taken before." She let out a breath and squeezed him hard. "I'm gonna win. I'm gonna win and then we can move to the Victor's Village, and I won't ever have to work at the docks again."

"I'm gonna miss you, Riva," he said, his little voice wavering.

"I'm gonna miss you too, little man."

He pulled away from the hug and extended his hand. On it was a bracelet, clumsily woven, with a few colorful wooden beads strung into it.

"I made this. So you could bring it to the Arena."

Riva felt her eyes fill. "Thanks, Destan." She took it from him and put it on, letting out a shaky breath.

He moved and sat next to her, but she stood as Jorah approached.

"You did good out there, Barracuda," he said, smiling at her. "Shame about the eye though."

"Nah. The Capitol will eat that shit up out there. I'm an underdog now."

He flashed a grin. "You think you're gonna join the Careers this year?"

"If they'll have me."

"A strong District Four girl like you? They'd be stupid not to."

She gave him a quick hug before sitting back down, drawing Destan close.

"So what do you think of that Carrack kid?"

"He seems capable. I can't get a read on him, though."

"He seems pretty stony. If the two of you stick together, we're a sure win this year."

After their hour passed—Riva didn't have any friends besides Jorah, so no one else came to see her—the Peacekeepers came and brought her out of the Justice Building. She was almost surprised at how much paparazzi there was already, but she just waved and kept up her usual visage. Mica appeared to be doing much the same. She wondered if it was a facade or if he really was as stoic as he appeared.

She ducked into the car beside him and looked out the window as they pulled from the Square and started towards the train station. There was a hole starting to open in her heart, and she felt like she could cry.

But she could save crying over Destan until night. She could hold it in until then.

* * *

 **A/N: So this was Mica from** _ **recklessinparadise**_ **and Riva from** _ **dyloccupy**_ **! I had a lot of fun writing this.**

 **Let me know what you think!**

 **Also, I'm starting class up again on Wednesday, but I'm hoping to keep up on my regular update schedule.**


	7. The Mouse and the Monitor

**Clio Cosette**

 **Nine months ago**

"Have you seen that kid in our engineering class?" Ed asked.

Clio opened her eyes and looked down at him. His head was in her lap, and they were relaxing on the couch in Tria's house while she went out to get stuff for dinner.

"You're going to have to be more specific, Ed," she replied, stroking his head and pushing a few locks of hair from his eyes.

"I think their name's Padoa. Short, black hair, dark eyes—a bit of a smartass."

"Oh! Yeah, I know who you're talking about. What about them?"

He shrugged. "They're cute."

She smiled. "Yeah, and?"

Another shrug. "Maybe we could be friends."

"Something tells me being 'friends' isn't quite what's on your mind."

He sat up and made an indignant sound. "Well—I mean, I'd want to be friends first before we asked them out."

"And you're assuming that I'm on board with this."

He rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Clio, don't pretend you aren't."

She grinned and ran her hand through his hair again. "How do you even know they're open to this sort of thing?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. I guess we don't. We should probably find out first, huh?"

"That _might_ be a good plan."

Despite their promise to one another to try and befriend Padoa, neither of them had gathered up the courage to do it. Clio was getting into a depressive episode, so she wasn't up for doing much of anything, especially not a draining social interaction. She barely managed to pull herself out of bed to go to school most mornings.

Padoa, however, seemed to be more of an action taker. After noticing that they had been looking at them, they came right up to the two of them after class one day and asked, "Why do you two stare at me all the time?"

They were shorter—shorter than Clio, even—but that didn't stop them from looking uncompromising. She liked them already.

Ed looked panicked, glancing at Clio helplessly for a moment before looking back at Padoa. "Oh—sorry, we don't mean to stare we were just—we just—well."

They held up a hand. "I'm gonna stop you there, because this is excruciating. Just tell me what you want."

"We wanted to know if…" he faltered, looking for a way to word the request.

"Our end goal was to ask you out," Clio said calmly, ignoring the look Ed sent her.

Padoa looked between the two of them. "An open relationship, huh?"

"You could call it that."

"Well, let's be friends, first. I don't know you two. You could be totally insufferable for all I know."

"That was our plan," Ed said. His cheeks were bright red. He wasn't shy by any means, but a lot of the time he was reluctant to share personal information about their relationship. It wasn't something most others understood, and when they told adults about it, they often boiled it down to them being horny teenagers, predicting that their relationship wouldn't last longer than high school, which wasn't true at all. Clio and Ed loved each other dearly, probably more than most other teenage couples loved each other. Their relationship had been forged in struggle, and continued to be hardened by it.

Padoa extended their hand. "I'm Padoa Tachen," they said.

"I'm Eddewy Trusset, but most people call me Ed, and this is Clio."

She waved.

"So… you two want to go hang out or something?" they asked.

They both shrugged.

Ed knew that Clio was in a depressive episode, so he knew he'd have to make most of the decisions. If he didn't _make_ her do things, she'd just sit in bed all day until she switched again. Knowing that, he said, "Sure. Let's go."

So that was how Padoa entered their relationship and it became a triad. They were fast friends, and despite Clio's depressed state, the two became close quickly. After a few weeks of this, Padoa once again addressed the elephant in the room, which seemed to be a talent of theirs, and said, essentially, that it was about time they all started dating. Clio, who had been in a manic state, leapt at the opportunity.

It was like a hole in Clio and Ed's hearts had been filled with Padoa's addition. They were comforted by Ed's easygoing nature, and was always laughing at Clio's spitfire personality. They were the dominant decision-maker when they needed one, and was always quick to lift them all up when they were feeling down.

Clio had never been dissatisfied with Ed, could never dream of it, but she was the happiest she had been in a while once Padoa joined them and shared their love.

* * *

 **Gavin Springfield**

 **Two years ago**

The snears died away as Gavin ducked into the bathroom and the door swung shut behind him. He wiped at his eyes, sniffling hard and trying to make himself stop crying. He locked himself into a stall and sat down. It was gross, he knew it, but he couldn't just stand there while he cried.

He heard the door open and held his breath, hoping it wasn't Neil and his new friends coming to terrorize him some more.

He let out a breath in relief as he heard Liv's voice.

"Gav? Are you in here?"

"Yeah."

"Is there anyone else in here?"

"No."

The door swung shut and he heard her footsteps approaching. "You want to let me in?"

He stood and opened the stall door. "You shouldn't be in here," he said. "This is the boys bathroom."

"I don't care. You're upset. You shouldn't have to handle it alone."

"Thanks."

She hugged him tightly. "I can't believe he'd say that. It's so unfair. And after everything we've been through. I don't know what's gotten into him."

He shrugged, leaning his face into her shoulder. "I dunno," he said.

"Well it's stupid, and it's unfair, and you deserve better," she said. "If I wouldn't get expelled, I swear I'd punch him in his sneering little face."

Gavin laughed a little bit. "I know you would," he said. "I might too."

Liv smiled and pulled away from the hug. "We deserve better than the person Neil's become, right?"

He nodded, and there was a long silence. Then, he spoke the question that had been knocking around in his head since this started, the question whose answer frightened him. "Is this because I told him I was gay?

She sighed. "I dunno, Gav. Maybe. Judging by what he was saying, it might be. Which is stupid. He's stuck with us through everything, I don't understand how anything's different now."

He shrugged. "I dunno. I just wish it would stop."

"I know you do, buddy. Come on. School's almost over, we can go home and have some hot chocolate."

The door opened and they both fell silent. Gavin's eyes were wide, thinking it was Neil, coming to yell at him some more, or a teacher who would get Liv in trouble for being in the boy's bathroom.

The footfalls stopped outside their stall, the person apparently seeing that there was an extra pair of feet inside. "Um… why are there two of you in the same stall?"

"Because I'm comforting my friend, go away," Liv spat.

"Woah, okay. Why is there a girl in here?"

"Because I'm comforting my friend, _go away_!"

"Hey, I'm not judging. But… maybe you could go somewhere more sanitary? And less… private? I don't want to pee when there's a girl in here."

She opened the stall door, ready to yell at the kid some more. "I said go!"

He sighed. "Fine." He left quickly and Gavin sniffled.

"Sorry," Liv said. "Hopefully he won't tell anyone that we were in here."

"I think you probably scared him too much."

She giggled. "I probably did, huh?"

Later, as they were leaving the school, they saw the same kid going the same direction as them. Spotting them, he came over. "Hey," he said. He sent a scared glance at Liv. "I'm sorry for bursting in earlier. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Gavin said. "Some kids were just being mean to me."

"Oh, that sucks. I'm sorry."

He bit his lip. "I'm Gavin," he said. He jabbed a thumb in Liv's direction. "This is Liv."

"My name's Jessie. Do you mind if I walk home with you?"

"Yes!" Liv said.

Gavin looked over at her and frowned. "I don't mind. Liv's just on edge."

She crossed her arms and he sent her another look. He knew she was just being protective, but he doubted this kid was really on Neil's side.

As they walked home, they talked, and eventually found out that Jessie lived a block away from Gavin and Liv. Since Neil had so rudely left their group, it felt kind of empty with just the two of them, so they quickly absorbed Jessie. He was nice and thoughtful, and tended to balance out Liv's propensity towards terrible ideas.

Eventually, the three started spending almost all their time together.

One night, Liv confessed to him that she was beginning to develop a crush on Jessie. This shook Gavin's whole world, because he had started to do the same.

He didn't tell his best friend this, of course. He didn't think Jessie liked boys, and he had started seeing some signs that maybe he had a crush on Liv back. He didn't want to complicate that by admitting what he felt, so he just said he supported her.

The two started dating about a year after they became friends, and the whole time Gavin did his best to keep his feelings from being obvious. Maybe one day he'd be able to find a boy he could fall in love with too. He had his whole life, after all.

* * *

 **Clio Cosette**

 **Present day**

Clio was operating on less than ten hours of sleep in the past three days, but she hardly felt the fatigue. Really, she felt beyond energetic. She was in the belly of a manic phase, so all she could focus on was building this table. Even though it was Reaping Day, she barely thought about the impending ceremony. She was sanding and hammering and sawing away as the sun rose around her.

"Clio, what the fuck are you doing?"

She looked up. "I'm building a table."

"Why the _fuck_ are you building a table at five o'clock in the morning on Reaping Day?"

"It was six o'clock when I started."

Padoa sighed. "Come on. You need to get bathed, and dressed." They came over and took the saw from her hands and set it down.

She let them take her by the hands and lead her inside. "I'm trying to ride the manic wave out."

"I know, but you've gotta be responsible."

"It's good I have you and Ed then, huh?"

They laughed. "I guess so. Where would you be without us."

Padoa ran some water and found the nicest outfit in Clio's closet for her. "Here. I'll go start the stove up."

"Okay, just be quiet. I don't want to wake my parents up." Clio wasn't entirely certain they were even there, but she figured it was better safe than sorry. The last thing she wanted this morning was to get into an argument with them.

"Quite frankly Clio, I'm amazing you didn't keep them up all night with your fucking table-building."

Clio barely washed herself, too impatient to get out of the water. Right then, sitting still in the bathtub was torture for her, and she wanted nothing more than to actually _do something_.

She barely toweled off as she got out of the water and didn't bother to brush her hair, leaving it a stringy, sopping mess dripping across the floor.

When Padoa saw her, they frowned. "Go brush your hair, you slob," they said. Their tone made it obvious they were kidding, but Clio turned on her heel and returned to the bathroom anyway.

She brushed and braided her hair and returned.

"Much better."

Clio replaced Padoa at the stove as she made up some eggs that she had stolen from the coop in the neighbor's yard. Hardly anyone had chickens anymore, especially not in District Five, but her neighbors had a couple. They wouldn't miss one or two eggs going missing every week, and she definitely needed them.

After they had eaten, Padoa took her hand. "We should probably get going. Ed's gonna meet us in the square." They kissed her cheek and led her outside.

It was a long walk from Clio's house to the square, since she lived almost on the outskirts of the main provence in District Five, so it was a good thing they got an early start. She wondered, for a moment, if her parents and sister were even at home, and they were just asleep. For all she cared, they could sleep right through the end of the world.

Her relationship with her parents was tense—really, "tense" was putting it lightly. When she had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, they made that already difficult time in her life _worse._ She begged them to let her get on medication, but her father didn't believe in mental illness, and adamantly refused. She was willing to do _anything_ to feel better, which was what started her on drinking. When they finally made her go into rehab—and really, it wouldn't have worked at all if Ed hadn't encouraged her as well—their idea of supporting her through her recovery was more like shaming her until she felt like a burden every time she got to a low point. She had almost started drinking again, and if it weren't for Ed and her friends, she probably would have hit rock bottom again.

She was glad, sometimes, for her alcohol problem—in a weird, messed up way. If it weren't for that, she never would have met Ed. His dad owned the store she shoplifted her first bottle from, and he had caught her. Rather than turning her in, he took pity on her and let her walk away. The next time they met, he offered support, and she unloaded her heart to him.

That was how their friendship started, and later, it blossomed into a relationship, the first for both of them. In a way, her alcoholism had been the best thing that had ever happened to her.

That was a terrible thing to think, of course, and she never wanted to be that desperate and alone again, but if she could feel anything positive about that time in her life, she could be thankful that it had brought them together.

"Clio?" Padoa asked, bringing her back down to Earth.

She blinked and looked down at her partner. "What? Oh, sorry. I was a million miles away."

"You looked like it. Anyway. I was asking how your sister was."

She shrugged. "My mom's turning her into her. After I became the family disappointment, someone's gotta inherit the Cosette family legacy."

"That's a shame. Your mom's a bitch."

"Tell me about it."

She felt ashamed for agreeing with Padoa, but after thinking on how she had felt during her most vulnerable time, how her _parents_ , who were supposed to love and support and accept her no matter what, had made her feel completely alone and unloved, she didn't really feel a whole lot of sympathy for them at the moment.

It wasn't long until the emerged into the loose flagstone square. They carefully avoided potholes full of water from the night's rain before getting into line.

"You see Ed or Tria or Eidner anywhere?" Padoa asked, leaning around the bodies that were pretty much all taller than them.

"Nope," she replied. "Then again, the view from up here isn't much better than yours."

Tria and Eidner were two of Clio's closest friends—who weren't also in a relationship with her, that is. They had all met at rehab, and bonded over their shared struggles with alcohol addiction. They had become her new family, and she often crashed at their places when she wasn't with Padoa or Ed and she couldn't stand to be at home, under her mother's cold, cruel eyes.

Tria was a wild child, more reckless than even Clio was. They always made the joke that she was the reigning champ of being whipped by Peacekeepers, spending more time in custody than at home. Whether this was a true statement or not it didn't really matter. She was well-known in this part of District Five for being what the authorities delicately called "noncompliant." She'd been on her own for almost two years now, after her parents ditched her and moved somewhere else.

Eidner, on the other hand, was much more resigned. He resented their place in society, and resented the Capitol and its lavishness, but he didn't often voice his opinions to anyone other than his friends. He had inherited his alcoholism from his father after his mother died, and had mended their relationship after his recovery. He was one of the few in the group who had a decent relationship with his parent.

Clio started shifting her weight impatiently from one foot to another, entirely displeased with how slow the line was going.

"Calm down babe, getting impatient isn't going to make it go any faster."

"I just want this to be over so I can go back to making my stupid table," she said. She stood up on her tiptoes, trying to see over the heads of everyone in front of her for the back of Ed's head, or at least _someone_ she knew. She loved Padoa and had no problem standing in line with them, but her boundless energy made her crave interaction with others.

Eventually, of course, they got to the front of the line. She barely noticed when her finger was pricked and her bloodprint catalogued before she and Padoa went to the sixteen-year-old's section.

The anthem was playing, and Clio unconsciously swayed to the beat. It wasn't a particularly sway-worthy tune, but anything was better than standing still. She wished Ed was her age. She needed his calming energy right then.

Tria came shouldering her way through the crowd, waving at them. "What's up?" she asked, grinning.

"Hi, Tria," Clio said, giving a short wave with the hand that wasn't currently occupied by Pedoa's.

The noise of the crowd slowly tapered off as the anthem ended and the Mayor approached the microphone.

"Do you think it's better or worse with the Quell this year?" Tria asked, hardly lowering her voice. She didn't care who heard or who was pissed off by it, no one listened to the damn speech anyway. It was all for show, basically a matter of tradition nowadays.

Clio shrugged after a moment of thought. "I think it might be worse," she said. "There's a small part of a couple thousand chance your name gets called. But if someone you know gets called, there's a possibility you get picked."

"What do you think happens if the person who gets Reaped refuses to say a name? That's what I'd do. No one deserves that."

"Maybe they'd make you say it. Or just pick someone."

She grinned. "How'd they make me say it? What are they gonna do, whip me?"

Clio laughed, but stifled it.

As the mayor stepped down from the microphone, their surprisingly subduedly dressed Escort, Monte Dartmoor, took to the stage. Clio wasn't sure which was worse: the overly flamboyant and peppy Capitolites that tended to be Escorts, or the horribly boring and uninspiring woman District Five got stuck with.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice was comparable to lukewarm tea: bearable, but unpleasant. "As you all know, the Quarter Quell this year…" she droned on in an explanation, and Clio promptly tuned it out. They all knew what the Quell was. It didn't bare repeating.

"Now I will pull the names. First, let's do the males."

Clio had never liked how she referred to them as "male" and "female" bowls. It seemed horribly pharmaceutical.

She pulled a name off the top and returned to the microphone. Her eyes were half-shut as she read out, "Neil Erasmos."

A twelve-year-old stalked up to the stage, his nose pointed in the air.

Clio's heart sank. Whatever poor kid he picked would hardly be into puberty. The twelve-year-olds never stood a chance, especially from a district like Five.

"Do you have a name for someone you'd like to replace you?"

He nodded. As she lowered the microphone to his lips, he said, cleanly and clearly, "Gavin Springfield."

Clio bristled. There was always this kind of sick feeling whenever a young kid got picked, like the whole District collectively got nauseous.

A skinny boy, almost as short as Padoa, walked up to the stage. He and Neil seemed to share some kind of moment, speaking with nothing but their eyes. As he turned to face the audience beside Monte, Clio saw a few silent tears running down his cheeks.

"Now for the females."

Padoa stuck their tongue out and made a "bleh" sound under their breath, and she squeezed their hand.

"Mariana Abrego."

An eighteen-year-old emerged. When Monte held up the microphone, after a long moment of thought, Mariana said, "Uh… Jillian Hill, I guess."

Another girl, taller than even Ed, emerged. Despite her towering height, she was shaking, her hands clenched into fists and her lips sucked into her mouth.

Mariana gave her a half-assed apologetic look and mouthed "sorry" as she traded places with her.

Monte, about ready to move on, put her hands on their backs.

Before Clio even realized she was speaking, her voice rang out "I volunteer!" across the square.

Padoa and Tria both turned to look at her, their mouths hanging wide open. She knew that elsewhere in the square, Ed and Eidner likely looked the same way. They'd recognize her voice.

Monte's eyebrows raised—the most emotion she had showed all morning—as she looked out into the crowd for the owner of the voice.

Padoa clenched Clio's hand like a vice, but she knew she had to get away from them and get up on that stage. It had been an impulse, something her stupid, manic brain had done without permission from the rest of her.

Padoa, looking more panicked than she had ever seen, pulled on her with both hands. "Clio, no, don't go."

She turned and looked into her partner's eyes, and saw them welling with tears. Her heart broke. She heard—or sensed, or something—the Peacekeepers moving into the crowd to retrieve her, and she said, very calmly, "I have to." She leaned forward and kissed Padoa briefly.

They must have been too shocked to keep holding on, because now Clio's hand slid easily away.

She waved off the Peacekeepers and went to go with them, but Tria stepped forward. "No! She takes it back, she doesn't want to volunteer!" She tried to grab onto the shoulder of one of the guards, as if that would do anything but make the situation worse. The Peacekeepers, of course, well-accustomed to her insubordination, jabbed her with their taser sticks.

"Tria, don't," Clio said, reaching out to her. "Please."

Her eyes were full as well, but she backed away.

Letting out a shaky breath, she went up to the stage and the Peacekeepers returned to their place.

"What's your name?" Monte said. Her voice gave off the impression that she was completely unaware of what just happened—or she was just unphased by it.

"Clio," she said, leaning up to reach the microphone, "Clio Cosette."

"Good. Now, shake hands." They did, and as they turned to face the crowd, Monte announced their names.

Clio kept her eyes forward, resisting the urge to search the crowd for Ed. She didn't want to see the look on his face. After a moment of letting them be stared at, their images drunk in for the Capitolites and the rest of the Districts to commit to memory, they were led—flanked by the Peacekeepers—into the Justice Building, and ushered to their individual goodbye rooms.

Once the door shut behind her, Clio felt like her legs would give out underneath her.

She stumbled to the couch and sat down. She brought her knees close to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She probably wasn't supposed to put her feet up on the furniture like that, but she didn't care. She was going into the Hunger Games, she could probably afford to bend a few of the rules.

Her parents and sister were the first to come. Her mother and father looked… disappointed.

"What the hell were you thinking, volunteering?" her mother snapped.

Clio shrugged, not giving them the satisfaction of seeing her eyes.

"I just did, I dunno."

"You're going to get yourself killed—this is always what I'm telling you. You're too reckless, you never think anything through."

"If you came here to yell at me, why did you come?" she retorted.

"Clio." Her father was speaking up now. He sounded crushed.

Unlike her mother, Clio knew her dad cared about her to some degree. He was always career-focused, always thinking about what he could do to get higher, but he wasn't like her mother. She was cold, uncompromising, manipulative—and she was slowly grooming Clio's sister into a miniature clone of her. It was sickening.

But, Clio supposed she wouldn't have to worry about it for too much longer.

She looked up at her dad, and saw that he was fighting back tears.

She sighed and stood, hugging him. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know what I was doing—I just… said it."

"I don't want you to beat yourself up about it. I just want you to do what you can."

After a moment—and a worrisome glance at their mother—Clio's sister, Farrah, joined the hug. Sometimes Clio forgot just how young she was. She looked and acted more like a young businesswoman than a fourteen-year-old girl, but just now, leaning up against them, she looked like a child again. Clio's throat swelled painfully shut and she took a controlled breath.

These goodbyes would be the longest hour of her life.

When her parents had finally left—after Clio had almost gotten into a fight with her mother—Tria and Eidner came in. Eidner's eyes were puffy and red, but he was trying to hide it.

They sat down on the couch with her, one on either side, and hugged her.

"That was really dumb of you, Clio," Tria said. Her voice was quiet, and it wavered.

"I know. I didn't even mean to do it. My stupid dumb broken brain made me."

"Don't beat yourself up over it," Eidner said. "It happened. There's nothing you can do to change it. All you can do is prepare and meet the future head on. I want you to at least try and win. No matter how hopeless it may seem. You know underdogs have just as much a chance as anyone else, so long as they keep a firm head on their shoulders."

"Yeah," Clio said. She wasn't sure how much she really believed that for herself, but saying it made her feel better.

Finally, they left too, and Ed and Padoa came in. The sight of them was finally what made Clio break down, and she started sobbing, started crying like she was a two-year-old and everything was the scariest thing in the world.

Her partners immediately rushed to her, and they all embraced, and Clio was pretty sure they were both crying too. Ed squeezed them so hard Clio was sure she was going to break a rib.

"I love you so much, Clio. Why did you volunteer?"

She was so sick of answering that question, but she knew it was what everyone was wondering. She hadn't had any reason, and she supposed her mania had just made her feel unstoppable. She had horrible impulse control, and her brain and mouth were in cahoots against the part of her that was actually thinking, actually had a will to live.

They passed the rest of the hour wrapped up in one another's arms, sometimes talking, but mostly crying and feeling one another's presence. "I love you" was said probably about fifty times between the three of them.

Why would she ever want to leave this? Sure, her life sucked sometimes. Sure, her parents were assholes. Sure, she was miserable trying to deal with her mental illness and constantly lived with the temptation to drink again, but with people like Ed and Padoa to love her, and friends like Tria and Eidner, it was foolish to throw all of that away.

Thinking about everything she would be leaving behind solidified her drive to win. She would win the Hunger Games, she would win and come back to everyone here who loved her. She would win, and use her winnings to get herself some medication, and Ed, Padoa, Eidner, and Tria could all come live with her in the Victor's Village. They'd never have to worry about anything ever again.

Eventually, the Peacekeeper came in, alerting them that the hour was up and that Clio had to get on the train.

Padoa rose, as if to fight the Peacekeeper, to keep him from taking Clio away, but they evidently thought better of it, and kissed Clio one last time, and held her hand so tightly their knuckles turned white. Ed did much the same, before they left, their arms around each other, looking over their shoulders with teary eyes at Clio as she was led away.

* * *

 **Gavin Springfield**

 **Present Day**

 _Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry._

Gavin repeated those words to himself as he was led inside the Justice Building. He was gripping the hem of his shirt, just to give himself something to focus on besides the crushing horror that had settled on his shoulders when Neil had said his name.

What had he done to deserve this? He hadn't done anything to Neil, why did he hate him so much?

Once he had settled onto the couch, he burst into tears. He always insisted that he was too old to cry anymore, but he knew that wasn't true. And besides, he felt like he was entitled to tears. This was the worst day of his life.

The double doors opened and his parents rushed in. Both had tears streaming down their faces as well, and they wrapped him up in the tightest, most suffocating hug he had ever had.

Usually he didn't like letting his parents baby him like this, cradle him like he was a little kid, but he allowed it. They were all entitled to their breakdowns.

"Oh, my baby boy, my baby," his mother was sobbing, her tears dripping onto his shoulders, leaving warm little splotches on his shirt.

Gavin's dad didn't say anything. He was like that, sometimes, with him. He didn't ever really know how to be a father, having no experience to draw from. Instead he just rubbed Gavin's back as he shook, trying to do whatever he could to comfort him and his mom.

After the tears seemed to subside, for the most part, his mother knelt in front of him. Her face was splotchy and her makeup ran, but she made no effort to wipe it up. She rarely wore makeup, so maybe she just forgot it was there in the first place.

"You're going to win, I know it," she said, taking his hands in hers. "I know you are, and you're going to come back, and you're going to grow up and be the strong man I know you are."

"Romana…" Gavin's father started. He could tell by his tone that he was going to reality check her, and Gavin didn't know if she would be able to handle that. Her grief was already threatening to destroy her.

"I will mom," he said, looking into her eyes. He hadn't meant anything more than this, though he knew his odds of survival were low. _Just let her have this hope._

Eventually, his father dragged her away, saying that they had to give time to his friends to say goodbye too. She embraced him one last time, kissed his head, and stroked his hair. "I love you, baby. I love you so much," she whispered, her voice thick and goopy with her tears.

And then they were gone.

The room suddenly felt much colder, and Gavin pulled his knees up close to his chest. He hated this. He hated everything, and he wanted to curl up and disappear, wanted to close his eyes and when he opened them again, he wanted everything to be normal, how it should be. There was no way that this was how it should be.

Next, Liv and Jesse came. They were both trying to be strong, to show the world how big and mature they were, but once they saw him, their walls broke too.

"This isn't fair," Liv said, stamping her foot. "They can't take you away! Neil should've been the one going in. He _deserves_ to go in!"

"You don't mean that," Gavin said, standing up and hugging her.

"I do," she said. "He's so horrible. He could've chosen anyone but you. Anyone in the whole District. Why'd he have to pick you?" With that, she started full on sobbing. Jesse put his hand on her shoulder and then joined the hug.

"I'm sorry," Gavin said. He didn't even know what he was apologizing for. It just felt like it was the only thing he could say.

"I don't want you to go," she whispered.

"I don't want me to go either."

After a while, Liv was willing to go and sit down on the couch with him, and she sniffled and wiped her eyes. Jesse sat beside her, but put his hand on Gavin's shoulder.

If this were any other time, he would have felt that thrill, the nervous energy that ran through him every time Jesse touched him. But this was no time to be thinking of his stupid crush. This was going to be the last time he ever saw his best friends. He knew he wasn't coming back.

Thinking about that, of course, made him start crying again, and the cycle started over.

Eventually, they were told that it was time for Gavin to go to the train. With a deep breath he wiped his eyes, embraced his friends for the last time, and left the Justice Building. He kept his eyes away from the cameras as much as he could, though he knew it would be obvious enough that he had been crying for an hour straight.

As he got into the car beside his District partner, he turned and looked out the back window as the emptying square got smaller and smaller, as they left the part of District Five he had grown up in, and everything he had ever known disappeared into the distance.

* * *

 **A/N: so.. I know this is over a week late….. I got super writer's blocked, idk why. I'm not sure how well I'm gonna be able to keep up, so just stay with me! Eventually.. I'll get there…. Probably.**

 **Anyway, this is Clio Cosette from** _ **JabbyAbby**_ **and Gavin Springfield from** _ **TheEngineeringGames!**_ **I love them both a lot, let me know what y'all think!**


	8. The Sloth and the Vulture

**Marley Nash**

 **Three years ago**

"Marley can we go to the park?"

Marley looked down at their little sister, who was tugging on the end of their jacket.

The "park" that she was referring to was nothing more than an empty lot with a pair of rickety old swings and a wooden jungle gym, both made by members of the community several years before Marley was born, but it was the closest thing to a real park they ever got in District Six.

"I wanna go to the park!" Linus jumped up from his place on the floor.

"Okay, okay, we can go to the park before dinner."

There was a chorus of gleeful "yay!"s as Marley went to get their jacket and their siblings all got their shoes on.

"When's dad coming home?" Arthur asked, holding Linus' hand while Marley held Vienna's.

"I dunno kiddo. He said it might be a couple more weeks," they replied.

At the moment, Marley was glad that he was gone. They loved their father, and respected him a lot, but at this point, that was part of the problem. Their adoration for him made his response to the idea of being nonbinary all that more hurtful.

He was a solid and practical man, who hadn't really ventured outside of his own little section of life, despite how much he traveled. To a point, Marley could understand why he was suspicious of anything that might be Capitol propaganda or frivolity, but the way he had reacted to their telling him about Arthur's classmate Cal, who came out as nonbinary, had set them weeks back in their journey to self-acceptance, and had permanently ruined any confidence in themself when it came to telling other people about their identity.

They needed a little while without seeing him for it to stop hurting.

It was a short walk to the park, but it seemed longer thanks to the stiff wind. The younger ones didn't seem to notice, though. They were busy singing songs the other kids at school had taught them, skipping around and laughing. They had all that childlike energy that kept them warm.

Marley sat on the small bench at the end of the "park," a book in their hand. They glanced up every so often to make sure their siblings weren't getting hurt or being mean to one another. This was a habit they had long since relaxed into. They had been helping to look after and raise their siblings since their mother died when they were eight. Maybe it had thrust them into adulthood too early, made them learn responsibility, but they didn't mind so much. There was a hole left from their mother, and someone had to fill it. They didn't usually like being in the spotlight or making decisions, but it felt good to be wanted sometimes.

"Hey Marley!"

They turned and saw Valerie approaching, her seven-year-old sister in tow.

"Hi Val," they said.

Jemima ran to join the others at digging a hole behind the swings and Valerie sat on the bench.

"How are you?" she asked.

Marley shrugged. "Same old. I tested the waters with dad, to see how he would react if I ever came out."

"And?"

They shook their head. "Something tells me it wouldn't fly over too well."

"Oh, that's shitty, Marley, I'm sorry."

They shrugged. "It's fine. Not a big deal."

She slung an arm around their shoulder. "Someday he'll get over it."

"Yeah I sure hope so. And if not, I'll just do all the paperwork myself when I turn sixteen. Maybe I'll get the guts to tell him then."

"Good idea, be the independent primordial being you are."

Marley laughed. "Since when did I become a primordial being?"

"Since you ascended beyond our human understandings of gender," she replied, taking on a sarcastically dramatic voice.

"Whatever—it's not like I made up being agender."

"Maybe not. But you perfected it."

They were about to reply when a wail emanated from the makeshift jungle gym.

"Duty calls," Marley said, standing up.

They went over to the playground and found Vienna sitting down, tears streaming down her face, with Arthur standing above her.

"What happened?"

"Vienna fell and got a splinter," he said, pointing at his sister's hand, which was held out and trembling.

"Here, let me see it," Marley said, kneeling down.

Sure enough, there was a splinter a good inch in length sticking out of Vienna's hand. It was an easy enough fix, the issue would be calming the kid down.

"I'm gonna pull the splinter out, okay?" Marley said, taking her hand gently in their own.

Vienna shook her head and cried harder. This was how it always was with kids: the horror and spectacle is always far worse than the injury itself.

"Do I have to amputate it then?"

"What—what—what's am-pee-tade?" the six-year-old asked.

"It means I cut it off," they replied. They looked at her hand clinically. "I mean, if you don't want me to take it out, I have no choice."

"Take it out!" she wailed. "I wanna keep my hand!"

"Okay then. Close your eyes and count to five, alright? By the time you get to five, you won't have a sliver anymore."

Obediently, she shut her eyes tightly and started counting slowly.

Marley pulled the sliver out and Vienna cut off her counting for a moment to sob.

"There, all better," they said as she reached five.

She sniffed and wiped her dribbling nose. "Thank you, Marley."

"Anytime kiddo. Are you okay now or do you want to go sit on the bench with me?"

"I'm okay now."

"Good." Marley stood up and descended from the rickety jungle gym and rejoined Valerie.

"No casualties?"

"No, but if they don't fix that thing there's gonna be some soon."

* * *

 **Boden Clairie**

 **Eight years ago**

"It is with many sorrows we inter Thane, Ensley, and Ty Clairie, and give up their bodies to the earth. We pray for peace in their afterlife."

Boden bowed his head, hoping no one else could see his smile. All around him were the little sobs and sniffles of his parents' friends. God they were pitiful. It was all he could do not to laugh at them.

Once the enormous hole was once again filled in with dirt, the funeral-goers began to depart. Boden looked up as a hand clasped his shoulder. He looked up and saw it was the old man who had read out his family's last rights.

"I'm very sorry for your loss son," he said.

Boden took a moment to respond; he had been distracted by the enormous amount of nose hairs peeking out from the guy's nostrils as he stood over him. It was like an upside down bush up there.

"I'll be okay," he finally said.

"The Peacekeepers are doing everything they can to find out who is responsible for this heinous thing."

"I know."

That was a lie, of course. The Peacekeepers had hardly done anything more than an impromptu search of their house for clues. Boden had been counting on that; it was what had made it so easy to get away with it.

He waited in the cemetery for a little while longer before ambling out. He knew they'd try to take him to the community home, but he wasn't going to let them. He'd run away, he'd _kill_ them if he had to, though he wasn't quite sure if he'd be able to get away with it a second time, especially if it were a Peacekeeper. That might start to seem a little too obvious.

He knew if he didn't get out of this part of District Six, the Peacekeepers would eventually catch him. So, that night, after gathering as many supplies as he could, he struck out in the first direction that caught his fancy, figuring it was as good as any other. He walked until he found a place that was totally unfamiliar to him, figuring that was probably good enough for now.

He'd make a life for himself here: all alone, just him. He'd steal food, he'd steal clothes, he'd find a nice spot to sleep. He wasn't going to let anyone tell him what to do anymore. He didn't have to go to school, didn't have to work—he was completely by himself, completely above rules. And it felt _awesome._

He passed the next several years that way: stealing, intimidating, and threatening to get his way and to keep himself happy and comfortable—as comfortable as one could be without a real home. Sure, winters were kind of hard, but anything was better than living in the community home.

Eventually, though, he got that same stirring feeling in his stomach, the one that had brought him to killing his family. That night, he sat in the shadows of an alley near where he lived, watching for victims. Lots of people walked by, but none of them seemed like they'd be interesting enough to kill. That was what was most important to Boden: it had to be _satisfying_.

Eventually, a group walked by: two parents and a daughter, probably no older than eight. A wicked smile crossed his lips. These people were _perfect._

He emerged from the alley as they walked by, his baseball bat in his hand. The father would probably be the most difficult, so it was best to get him out of the way before he could fight back. There weren't many people in this area—which was why he had chosen it as his hunting ground—so as long as one of them didn't get away, he wouldn't have to worry about them alerting anyone.

He approached, his footsteps almost silent on the rough flagstones. The parents were talking together and the girl was walking a few steps ahead, hopping from stone to stone.

As Boden neared, he raised the baseball bat over his head. If he swung hard enough, he might be able to at least knock him out with one hit. He let out a breath and brought the bat down. With a satisfying _crunch_ the guy's skull cracked open and he dropped. He wasn't getting up, which gave him an opportunity to down the mother and grab the girl by the pigtails. She, of course, was screaming bloody murder and crying all over the place, yelling for her parents.

"Shut up," Boden snapped. She didn't… at least, not until he hit her in the forehead too. He checked their pulses, and found that the mother was still clinging to life. She was thoroughly unconscious, of course, and one more blow to her skull was enough to finish the job. With that, he quickly retreated to the darkness. He wiped the blood from the bat as he walked, and then went the long way around back home. If he was seen, he didn't want them to be able to track him back to where he was squatting.

Of course, unlike the first time, this murder nearly came back to bite Boden. It turned out that the family of three had an extra, who was at a friend's house the night of the murder. The child, who was Boden's age and one of the many children he found joy in intimidating and bullying, accused him. There wasn't enough evidence to bring him in, of course, but the attention led to the Peacekeepers trying to shut him up in the home, which forced Boden to move away again. He felt a particular satisfaction knowing the brat was in the community home and would never have the satisfaction of seeing Boden pay for his crimes. That was almost better than the murder itself, honestly.

* * *

 **Marley Nash**

 **Present Day**

"Hey kiddos, time to get up." The sound of Marley's father's voice brought them gradually from sleep, and they felt Vienna stirring in their arms as well.

After a moment, they sat up, trying to blink away the heaviness from their eyes. They saw their father disappear from the doorway.

Vienna whined and turned over onto her stomach.

"Come on, kid, it's time to get up. You have to take a bath."

"I took a bath two days ago, Marley," she replied, her voice muffled by the pillow.

"Yeah, and you stink." They poked her. "Come on, it's Reaping day. You know that means we have to get up early."

"But it's a _Saturday_! Why couldn't they put the Reaping on a school day!"

They rolled their eyes. "I dunno, Vi, but we've gotta get up. Hurry before the boys get the water all gross."

Reluctantly, she rolled out of bed and grabbed the dress Marley had set out for her the night before, before going to the bathroom.

Marley, having bathed the night before to avoid the Reaping morning rush, got dressed before going to the kitchen to make breakfast for their siblings. Even though their dad was there, and he would probably insist on at least helping, but it was a habit to cook for their siblings in the morning.

He came in a few minutes later. "Oh, you're already cooking?" he asked.

They nodded.

"Well. Do you need help?"

They shrugged. "You can cook the eggs if you want," they said, stepping away from the stove to cut an apple up and unwrap some leftover bread and cheese.

There was silence for a moment, before he spoke again. "Are you okay this morning? You seem… quiet."

"It's Reaping day, dad, I don't really feel like talking."

He nodded. "Right. Sorry, I understand."

Great. Now the silence was _awkward._

Soon enough, though, Marley's siblings emerged from the bathroom one by one, dressed in their best clothes, even though Linus and Vienna weren't old enough to be Reaped yet.

They sat down at the table as Marley and their dad handed them their meager servings for breakfast. They ate, and while Linus and Vienna were chatting and playing with their food in their usual carefree way, Arthur was staring despondently at his food.

"Hey, Arthur, you okay?" Marley asked, leaning down close to him so the others wouldn't know what they were talking about.

He shrugged. They knew exactly what it was about, of course; Arthur was twelve now, this was going to be the first Reaping in which he was eligible.

"It'll be okay," they assured him, ruffling his hair.

When breakfast had been engulfed, the Nash family started out. Because of their father's job, they didn't have the chance to go into the center of the District the day before, so they had to get up early and catch one of the last busses heading to the Square.

As they walked towards the bus station, Marley noticed that Arthur was hanging back a few steps, and slowed to walk beside him.

"You nervous?" they asked.

He nodded. It was only natural. Almost all of the young kids were nervous about their first Reaping—some were actually terrified. Marley had seen more panic-stricken twelve-year-olds clinging to their parents than they really cared to count.

"It'll be okay. The chance of you getting picked is _tiny_."

"But what if someone I know gets called? And they pick me?"

"Again, there's a tiny chance you're actually going to get picked. Chances are, it'll be some other kid, older than you. Don't be scared, kid. Just try and hold your head high. I'll be right there, three sections behind you. And then, once we're done with this stuff, maybe we can convince dad to take us to some shops while we're in the center."

He smiled a little bit at that. "Okay," he said quietly.

Marley wrapped an arm around his shoulder. He was already almost taller than them, having hit that pre-puberty growth spurt that always seemed to make little boys shoot up like trees.

"Thanks, Marley," he said quietly, before he shrugged their arm away.

That stung a little bit, though they wouldn't let it show. Their little brother was starting to get too old for their sibling's affection, and, they supposed, the day would come when the others would as well. They'd get old enough to take care of themselves, and Marley couldn't help but wonder where that would put them.

It was a two-hour bus ride to the center of the District, and Marley nearly fell asleep twice as the dreary grays passed, the factories belching black smog where the trains and tracks and busses were made and shipped out.

Finally, though, they disembarked into a sea of people. A child cried in the distance, there was the barking of parents all around them, and over everything sat this heavy dread, so thick it seemed to coat them all like mud. The Quarter Quell changed things, but it was still a Reaping. Two kids from their District, two literal children, were going to die in the next few weeks.

As Marley and Arthur shuffled to the back of the line, they noticed he had his arms wrapped tightly around himself.

"Hey, buddy, don't worry. It'll be boring and uneventful, just like every other year."

Marley didn't even have to worry as much this year. They took out as much tesserae as they dared—without their father's knowledge—in order to support them and their siblings, so normal Reapings were at least a little anxiety-inducing. This year, however, they didn't have to worry about it. They could have taken out maximum tesserae and if they had been called they could have just chosen someone else to replace them. Really, the thought of having to _pick_ someone to go into the Games instead made them sick—which was probably the point—but as repulsive as that was, Marley would rather pick someone else at random than have to leave their siblings.

The anthem faded away while the last stragglers found their way into the pens and the crowds of onlookers.

They didn't know where Valerie was, probably one the opposite side of the pen since she had likely gotten there early. Chester was somewhere across the aisle in the sixteen-year-old's section.

As Marley made their way to the frontmost corner of the crowd, leaning over the rope into the walkway, they noticed that the Mayor was not present. That wasn't necessarily surprising, considering the fact that it was well known he wasted his time with booze and drugs and hookers.

Their Escort, a woman in a bright neon power suit—the color of which Marley didn't have a name—looked around uncomfortably and whispered to one of the Peacekeepers standing nearby. Their lone Mentor, looking bored more than anything else, lounged lazily in the chair, staring up at the sky as if begging some deity to grace xem with the sweet embrace of death.

The Peacekeeper stalked off in the direction of the Mayor's house, but returned a moment later with their tardy leader beside them.

"Oh, wonderful!" Marcella said, her voice projected over the whole square as she stood up and clapped her hands together in greeting.

The Mentor didn't stand, but instead waved a lazy hand. Marley wondered if xe too was drunk.

Mayor Winters stepped up to the microphone and cleared his throat. His face was as read as a cherry pit, and his tie was a little loose around the neck. Marley couldn't help but feel amused at the fact that even from this distance they could tell he had either just woken up or had been otherwise occupied before coming to the Reaping.

He read out the Treaty of Treason, outlining the last hundred and fifty years of failed rebellions and squandered hope, summarizing the depressing history of Panem and reminding everyone in the Districts that it was all their fault.

Marley found themself sharing the Mentor's sentiments to the sky gods.

Mayor Winters had barely finished the final sentence of the Treaty before Marcella shoved him from the microphone. She must have been as impatient to get this gruesome business over with as the rest of them.

"Good morning, one and all!" she began, spreading her brightly colored hands out as her translucent butterfly wings flittered once or twice. "What a lovely day for a Reaping! We're going to start, this year, with the gentlemen! But first, a reminder to everyone of the Quarter Quell this year. I will draw a name from the bowls, and the Reaped will mount the stage and offer up someone of their same age to replace them. As always, Volunteers will be asked for once the second name is called. Let's begin!" She skittered over to the boy's bowl—possibly aided by the butterfly wings, Marley couldn't be sure from this distance—and shoved her tinted arm into the glass. She dug around for a few seconds and then drew out a name.

She wasted no time returning to the microphone and announcing, "Cody Black!" A guy emerged from the eighteen-year-old's section, making his way to the stage so quickly that Marley felt the air rustle their hair.

"Do you have a name for someone to replace you?" Marcella asked.

"I do. Boden Clarie!"

Then, something happened. Something so unexpected, and so horrifying, it made every hair on Marley's body stand on end, and they felt almost nauseas. The guy Cody picked actually _laughed_.

Cody descended from the stage, his eyes on fire and his face contorted into a glare. Boden came walking briskly by, and Marley caught a glimpse of him as he passed. He was _grinning._ This was the type of shit someone expected to see from the Career Districts, from one of those bloodthirsty freaks who were born and bred to get a sick pleasure out of other people's suffering, out of causing other _kids_ pain and death. This wasn't expected from someone in the outer Districts.

The two boys met about halfway down the aisle, and they had a momentary, silent exchange. Marley wished the Capitol had invested in television sets so the whole square could see what was happening.

The moment passed, and Cody returned to his section.

As Boden mounted the stage, even Marcella looked a little green.

"A-any volunteers?" she asked, her voice at least an octave higher.

No one's voice came.

After a moment, she took a breath in an attempt to compose herself. "Now for the ladies!"

Marley unconsciously stuck their tongue out.

"Mary-Ann Carnovski!"

There was a shuffling to their left, and they looked over their shoulder. A girl emerged from their section and walked shakily to the stage, keeping an unconscious distance between herself and Boden.

"Do you have a name for someone to replace you?" Marcella asked.

She just stared with bugging eyes out at the crowd through her thick-rimmed glasses.

"Ms. Carnovski, you have to pick someone."

She shook her head.

"You need to. Even if you want to point somewhere. But someone has to replace you."

Shutting her eyes and throwing her hand over her face, she pointed at the sixteen-year-old's section. Marley looked over their shoulder, trying to pinpoint exactly where that deadly finger was indicating.

Then, out of the corner of their eye, they saw the Peacekeepers start to descend like horrible white vultures. They unconsciously stepped away, wanting to keep out of their way. But then, they realized that their blank helmets were focused on _them_.

But that was impossible. There was no way the girl intended to pick them. They didn't even know her, had never done anything to her.

One Peacekeeper took them by the arm and started leading them away, and Marley weakly tried to struggle. "No, no, there's been a mistake!" they said, looking between the Peacekeepers and the silent, pitying faces of the rest of the District Six kids.

As they were forced up the steps to the stage, they realized their legs were shaking, and their eyes filled with tears.

Mary-Ann couldn't look them in the eyes, instead keeping them trained on her ratty shoes.

"Is this the girl you picked?" Marcella asked. Marley was too terrified to be annoyed at the presumption.

Still, she didn't look up. She just nodded. "I'm sorry," she said quietly as she went past Marley and descended from the stage.

"What's your name?"

It took a full ten seconds for them to find their voice. "Marley Nash," they finally whispered.

"Are there any volunteers?"

Again, no one stepped forward.

"Well, Boden, Marley, shake hands!"

They did, though Boden nearly broke Marley's finger.

Marcella, trying to salvage at least some of the excitement of the afternoon, announced, "One and all, I present to you, the Tributes from District Six!"

Marley took a deep breath, clenching their hands into tight fists to avoid having a breakdown. They probably looked week enough standing next to Boden, they didn't need to add tears to their list of disadvantages.

They were led inside the Justice Building, and into their appointed rooms. Marley curled up into as tight a ball as they could, trying to keep the tears away. It would be too obvious if they cried during this hour, the ultra high-definition cameras would be able to pick up even the slightest hint of emotion and broadcast it to all of Panem. They had to be strong, they had to give their siblings some hope that they'd see them again.

After a moment, the door opened, and three little sobbing bodies threw themselves onto Marley.

The door shut as they uncurled, wrapping their arms around their siblings. A few sobs escaped their chest as their father came and sat beside them.

"It's not fair!" Vienna wailed. "That girl didn't even know who you were! She just picked you at random!"

"Shh, Vi, shh, it's okay."

"No it's not!"

"It is, I promise. It'll be okay. It's not the end of the world." They knew that to Vienna, the tiny nine-year-old, who barely saw their father and couldn't remember their mother, would see this as losing a parent. To her, in her tiny little nine-year-old universe, this _was_ the end of the world.

"Marley…" their father began, running a hand through their hair.

They looked up at him, and saw that his own eyes were brimming with tears. They tried to swallow past the sore lump in their throat and let out a breath.

"I don't want you to give up, sweetheart. Please."

"I'm not going to."

"I know it seems hopeless, but—just look at Sable. He won, so you have a _chance_. That's all you need."

Marley contained a grimace as their father misgendered the Mentor.

"I know," they said quietly. They tried to push down their disappointment, knowing that even now their father probably wouldn't respect them. They wanted to forget it. They didn't want their last thoughts of their father to be tinted with his misplaced prejudice.

"I'm going to try and put together enough money to send you something. Something that'll help in the Arena. Maybe give you an edge over the other kids—"

"No," they interrupted, firmly. "I don't want you to sacrifice money that can be used on them to help me. I'll be fine. I won't need anything. If I do, I'll just… charm the Capitolites."

They wouldn't be able to use a care package knowing that it could have been used to buy Arthur a new pair of shoes after he grew out of the ones he had now, or to get Linus a book for school. Their fate was all but sealed; there was still hope for their siblings.

Eventually, Marley's dad managed to convince their siblings that it was time to go, that they had to give time for their friends to say goodbye too. Vienna clinged to them, sobbing and screaming their name, but he pulled her off. He gave her one last look, a last "I love you," before he led Marley's siblings out of the room.

They could hear Vienna until she had left the Justice Building.

Next, Valerie and Chester came in. Valerie was seething, and Chester had a grimness about his eyes that was uncharacteristic of him.

"This is so unfair!" Val said immediately. "She shouldn't—that shouldn't be allowed! She didn't even pick you, she just pointed randomly into the crowd."

"It's the _Hunger Games_ , Val. They're never fair."

"Hey, at least you'll get to get out of school," Chester said, a pitiful attempt at his usual humor.

Marley sighed. Seeing that his jokes weren't having any real effect, he came and sat beside them and wrapped an arm around them. "It'll be okay, Marley," he said. Valerie joined their embrace and repeated the sentiment.

Marley just nodded along, barely listening. People hadn't stopped saying that to her since she had been Reaped. No matter how many times they would say it, it would never be true. They were going to die in the next few weeks, they were going to be killed brutally by some other teenager, or starve to death, or be ripped apart by some horrible monster of the Gamemaker's design. The next time they came back to District Six, they would be in a coffin.

When Valerie and Chester left, Marley had a few minutes left to sit alone. They were itching at their arm, totally unaware that they were doing it, until they felt warm blood on their fingertips. They pressed their hand up against the small cut as the Peacekeeper came in, telling them it was time to go. They let out a breath, shutting their eyes. They had to preparethemself, mentally, for the week ahead of them, and then the hell of the Arena. This might very well be their last private moment until they died, so they used it as an opportunity to pullthemself together.

* * *

 **Boden Clairie**

 **Present Day**

Boden didn't expect anyone to come and see him. His family was all dead, he didn't have any friends, no connections in the world.

So he spent his time laying on the floor of his goodbye rooms. He pretty much hadn't stopped grinning since Cody had called his name out. He couldn't believe that Volunteering had never occurred to him before, but now, through sheer serendipity, he was going into the Hunger Games, where he could kill people and be _applauded_ for it.

He sat up as the door opened and frowned in confusion. It hadn't been more than a half an hour, who would be disturbing him now?

Of course, who else?

"Hi Cody," he said, standing up.

Cody kept close to the door, should Boden try and attack him. He wasn't sure what he _could_ use, but the temptation definitely was there. Not out of vengeance, necessarily, but more out of a desire for symmetry. He wanted to tie up loose ends, so to speak.

"I just wanted to come and say goodbye. I want to have the satisfaction of seeing you one last time before you die in the Arena like the pig you are. I know you killed my family. I just haven't been able to prove it. Oh well. At least my parents and sister will be avenged."

Boden laughed. "And what makes you think I won't come back and finish the job?"

"If you're a Victor, you won't be able to get away with killing me," he said, though he didn't sound so sure.

Another laugh. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Cody started to leave.

"Oh! Before you go. Did I ever tell you about that night?"

"Shut up, Clairie."

"Your sister was screaming bloody murder. That is, until I crushed her skull with my bat."

With a yell, Cody swung at him. He hit, and Boden groaned. He shoved him hard, and his back hit the door. There was a moment of stillness, silence, between them, before Cody disappeared out the door.

Boden wiped blood from his lip and chuckled. This was going to be the best two weeks ever.

When the Peacekeeper came and told him he had to go to the train station, his grin returned.

"Hunger Games, here I come," he muttered.

* * *

 **A/N:Woo! So, I think Tuesdays are going to be the update days from now on, because of how busy I am and how much time I'm spending out of the house without my computer.**

 **So this was Marley Nash from** _ **Elim9,**_ **and Boden Clairie from** _ **IciclePower33**_ **! Let me know what you think!**


	9. The Party

The engagement party took close to a week to plan.

Despite the fact that Aeneas had all the best planners and caterers and decorators that money could by, it was a long and arduous process. This was the most important engagement of the year, so everything had to be perfect.

When the day of the party finally arrived, Aeneas had to wake up before ten in the morning to get their hair and makeup done. By one they were ready — having made remarkably good time — and were bustling around their sprawling apartment looking over the last-minute preparations.

Caterers bustled in and out of the front door, carrying food, utensils, and dishes.

Being the head Gamemaker, they were well used to throwing large events in their apartment, but this was different. This wasn't work. As such, there was a nervous anticipation they couldn't get over while they looked over the decorations being put up, the meals being prepared, and the general hubbub that came with the night of the party fast approaching.

Albia had been sending them messages all day, whining about not being able to see them until everyone else did, but Aeneas had stood firm and insisted that ve stay away until that night.

The last-minute preparations went about as well as could be expected; only a few minor emergencies cropped up, which were quickly dealt with.

By the time the first guests arrived, everything was perfect.

Albia, as if in retaliation for not being able to see Aeneas all day, and being somewhat ignored since they had been so busy, decided ve was going to be "fashionably late" to the party, in order to create gossip and torture ver fiancex.

Aeneas walked around the living room as quiet music played in the background, a tall glass of champagne in their hand. Naturally, the wealthiest and most important Capitolites — and a few influentials from the nearby Districts — were there, and _all_ were anxious to even get a "hello" with the Head Gamemaker whose face had not left the papers for weeks.

Of course, Aeneas graciously made conversation, though their eyes kept flicking to the door, waiting for it to open to reveal Albia finally arriving. Every time it shut they felt their heart leap, only to be disappointed by seeing that it was just a normal latecomer.

"Mx. Ardensill," a voice said behind them. They turned, and saw none other than President Oak.

"Oh, Madame President," they said, inclining their head in greeting. "I wasn't aware you were coming, I never got an RSVP."

"Yes, I apologize for that. My schedule is so busy the week before the Reapings it's impossible to know what I'm doing."

"It's no problem, I completely understand. I'm busy myself as well."

They both shared a light laugh at that. The President's bright green eyes flicked around the room momentarily. "Where's Albia? I would expect ve would be on your arm all night."

Aeneas smiled. "Ve decided ve wanted to shake things up and show up late."

"That seems just like vim, doesn't it." Of course, President Oak didn't _know_ for sure, as she had never had a conversation with Albia beyond small talk with the other Gamemakers involved, but that was part of her strategy as a leader: make it seem like she knew everyone and, by extension, make it seem like she _saw_ everything. Aeneas knew the truth though, they knew there was a limit to her omnipotence. There was at least one secret in all of Panem that she didn't know — or at least, a secret whose knowledge she wasn't willing to act on.

"Yes, well. I'm sure ve'll be along soon. Would you like more champagne?" Ve motioned to the near empty glass in the president's hand.

"Oh, no thank you," she said, shaking her head. "I've been trying to avoid alcohol. It runs in the family, you know."

"Oh yes, of course," they replied, smiling.

After a moment, an excited murmur swept through the crowd as the door swung shut, and Aeneas looked up. The crowd parted and they spotted their fiancex. Ve was dressed in a long silk coat over a white suit. Aeneas felt their breath leave their lungs. They set their glass on a nearby Avox's serving plate and went forward. Albia smiled at them, and opened ver arms. They ran to ver, and wrapped their arms around them.

They decided not to kiss ver, since there were so many people watching, but instead they clung to one another, Aeneas' face buried in ver shoulder.

"You look amazing," they whispered.

"So do you," ve replied.

They pulled away as a light applause came from the crowd. There were flashes from cameras, and they knew that there were cameras rolling on them. Sometimes being a celebrity was exhausting. But it didn't matter. In five hours, after everyone left, they could be alone, to celebrate their engagement in whatever way they wanted; no cameras, no paparazzi, no fake nobodies pretending to be their friends. Just the two of them and their love.

President Oak was standing a few feet away, apparently having followed Aeneas through the crowd. She approached and shook Albia's hand. "Congratulations," she said. "You look wonderful. Who are you wearing?"

Aeneas zoned out, following Albia and linking their arms as ve walked aside President Oak towards the kitchen. Evidently their fiancex hadn't eaten yet.

It was hours until the last dwindling guest left. He had to be supported by his wife, as he had drank a little too much wine with dinner. As the door shut on him and the avoxes who had been hired to help with the evening began to clean up, Aeneas let out a relieved sigh.

"That was the most exhausting dinner of my _life_ ," they said, playfully leaning into Albia's arms.

Ve shoved them away. "Oh, shut up," ve said. Ve kissed their makeup-covered cheek and led them towards the bathroom. "Don't act like you didn't enjoy the attention."

"Maybe I did," they replied, wetting a washrag and beginning to wash their makeup off. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't tiring."

Albia made a patronizing sound. "Do you want to take a bath before bed, or are you just too _tired_ to stand?"

There was a shuffling sound as ver coat dropped to the floor, and Aeneas could see vim undressing out of the corner of their eyes.

"Well," they said with a smile. "Maybe I could pull enough energy for a quick bath."

* * *

 **A/N: I know this is probably a lot of weeks late! But I've had like, no spoons recently so writing has been really hard! But it's Nano so hopefully I can pull my ass together.**

 **Anyway, since we're halfway through the Reapings, I wanted to do another chapter with Aeneas and Albia! I hope y'all enjoyed, tell me what you think! If I get my act together and write fast enough, I should be back to updating weekly!**


	10. The Wolverine and the Chipmunk

**Rosewood Hart**

 **Two years ago**

The whistle blew and echoed through the trees, signalling the end of the workday. Wiping sweat from her brow, Rose gave a thumbs up to the hoist operator below her, and he slowly started letting her down.

As her boots thumped heavily on the needle-strewn forest floor, she let out a breath. The sun was hotter than hell today, and she wanted nothing more than to get home, shower, and then spend the rest of the evening with Cypress.

She undid her harness and then followed after the other workers. As she cleared the work area, she took off her hard hat and took her ponytail out before running her fingers through her hair. She tossed the hat on the peg with her name engraved on it and went as quickly as she could to the bus station.

She sent a cursory glance around, though she knew her siblings were all posted in a different area this week. It would be a lonely ride into the city, but she didn't mind. She liked having the time alone to think.

As the bus pulled up to the station in the outskirts of District Seven, where nature met civilization, she clambered off the hot, crowded bus with the rest of the foresters, and started quickly towards her house.

She was the first one home, but by the time she had showered and dressed in some relaxing clothes, her two younger brothers had trickled noisily in, and were currently roughousing on the living room carpet.

"Hey!" she shouted as she came out. "Don't you two think you should take that outside? Mom would murder you if you broke something."

Cedar popped his head up. "Birch started it," he replied.

"I don't give a damn who started it," she replied. "Get on outside, you idiots."

Rolling their eyes, the two boys rose and went out the backdoor. Rolling her eyes in return, Rose left the house and went towards the paper-maker's shop, where she knew Cypress would be finishing up for the day.

As she overhead door rang, she saw Cypress peek up over a stack of newly made paper, and their faces both mutually broke into smiles. "Rose," she said, setting the paper precariously down on a desk nearby. She jogged over and hugged her.

"Hey, Cy," she replied, breathing in the smell of woodchips that always seemed to follow her girlfriend around. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. How are you?" She pulled away and looked up at her.

"Tired. It was hot as hell today."

"I bet." She kissed her briefly. "Hold on a second, let me go tell my dad I'm leaving."

She pulled away and disappeared into the back room of the shop. Rose waited, awkwardly twisting her ring around on her finger while she waited.

After a minute, Cypress returned. "Come on," she said, grabbing Rose by the hand and tugging her out of the shop.

"So what should we do tonight?" she asked as they walked down the sidewalk.

She shrugged. "I was thinking we could just walk around for a little while, since I haven't gotten paid yet."

"Sounds good." Cypress was one of those people who never needed to be _doing_ something to enjoy herself. She found joy in other people's presence.

They walked towards the more commercial part of their area of District Seven, talking idly about their day.

Cypress was in the middle of talking about some weird old woman who came into the shop that day when they heard a shout from a few blocks down.

Instinctively, the two of them ran towards the source of the sound, and found a group of Peacekeepers surrounding an old man, who was bowed down on his knees, trembling. One of the Peacekeepers had a baton in his hand, raised above his head in preparation to strike.

Rose was about to shout, but Cypress beat her to it. "Hey! Stop!" she shouted, running forward. "You can't do this!"

The Peacekeepers turned and looked at her. "Stay back," one of them snapped, pointing a baton threateningly at her.

Rose approached and stood close to Cypress.

"No. I'm not going to stand by and watch you beat an old man to death."

"You don't know what's going on. _Stay back_."

"No."

She stood tall, but the Peacekeepers turned away from them. The baton was raised again, and this time, she stepped forward and grabbed the Peacekeeper by the elbow. "No!"

"Hold her," he commanded. One of the others stepped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders, wrenching her away as she struggled.

"Cypress!" Rose shouted, stepping forward herself.

"Make her kneel."

A pang of panic shot through Rose's chest. She knew what kneeling meant.

"No! Get away from her!" she shouted, running forward and trying to get Cypress away. She didn't care that she might get executed too, she didn't care that this was probably the most dangerous impulsive thing she had ever done. She couldn't watch them kill her, the love of her life—she would die right there in the street with her if she had to.

"Keep her back!"

The third Peacekeeper grabbed her and threw her aside. Despite her size, he easily overpowered her, and delivered a swift, painful kick to her gut. Despite this, she refused to give up. "Cypress!" she screamed.

She was held back, one hand twisted in her hair, the other holding her wrist. She kicked and struggled, and screamed and screamed and wouldn't stop screaming, wanting everyone to come out of their houses and shops and see, see what they were doing to teenagers and old men in the street, see so that something would happen, so that someone would stop them. There were tears running down her face, and Cypress kept calling her name, reaching out for her, keeping their eyes locked even as the Peacekeeper drew a gun from his holster.

"No!" she wailed.

The two kept shouting for each other as the Peacekeeper stepped back and leveled the gun to the old man's head.

There was a loud bang, and horrid crack, and a sickening thump as the man slumped forward. Cypress' screams grew more desperate, Rose's struggles more intense.

She managed to get a hand free and reached out to her girlfriend, as if she could save her if she could just touch her, but the man holding her grabbed it and drew it sharply behind her back.

There was another bang, another crack, another thump, and Rose lost all thought in her mind.

She screamed Cypress' name, kicked at the Peacekeeper's shins, and started sobbing, ignoring the pain in her skull as a chunk of hair threatened to be pulled loose.

The Peacekeeper who had done the execution looked down at her. There was no face behind his black visor. She knew there wasn't anything human in that suit. Just a monster, a thoughtless, soulless monster who killed and beat for fun, the Capitol's guard dog.

She pulled her foot out and kicked him in the nuts, causing him to double over, as she called him the most obscene words in her vocabulary, all the while sobbing.

He doubled over, but after a moment recovered, and brought the butt of his gun up before hitting her in the face. She felt the cheekbone crack painfully. He ordered the guy holding her to drop her, and she immediately crawled over to Cypress.

The sight was one that would haunt Rose for years. She didn't think about it in that moment, though. She hardly even saw the blood, the spattered brains, the horrible look of frozen terror on her girlfriend's face. She just cradled her in her arms and sobbed and screamed. The Peacekeepers left her then, and after a minute, people started coming out.

As they approached, trying to speak calming words to her, she turned on them like a feral animal, screaming for them to get the fuck away, kicking at them. They had only watched. They could have done something, _anything_. But they had decided to watch. They had _let_ Cypress die. At that moment, she was disgusted with every other human being on the planet. She hated them all, for letting her die.

Eventually, a different group of Peacekeepers were called. They had to tranquilize her to get her away from Cypress.

She woke up an hour later in the doctor's office, her parents hanging over her.

Her head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, and her face fucking hurt. Even with the fog settling around her consciousness thanks to the drugs the doctor had given her, it didn't keep her out of reality enough that she forgot how she got there.

"Cypress," she said, beginning to sit up. "Where's Cypress?"

Her mother put a hand on her shoulder. "Rosewood, lay back down—don't exert yourself."

"No, get the fuck away from me! Where is my girlfriend!" Her father and older brother had to hold her down to keep her from getting up.

"Rosewood, you have to calm down, or else they're going to have to put you under again."

"I don't give a shit! Where—" she stopped as sobs broke her speech. "Where is she?"

A nurse came in with a syringe in her hand and a look of pity in her eyes.

The next time she came out of her drug-induced sleep, she didn't speak at all. She just curled up onto her side and screamed. She screamed, and then she threw up, and then she cried. When all the liquids had left her body, she felt so sick and empty that she thought she was going to die, and she welcomed the thought. It seemed like nothing mattered anymore. The pain she was feeling in this moment was so intense that everything else seemed tiny in comparison, and she would give anything to have it stop, to be able to see the love of her life again.

Why did she have to be so stupidly brave? Why did she have to be so headstrong and good that she felt the need to step in and interfere? Why did she have to do it? Of course, Rose had been about to do the same, but that didn't help the pain at all.

She was laid up in bed for two weeks, in and out of consciousness. She missed Cypress' funeral. Her parents still came and checked on her, every day. Told her how much they missed her, how much everyone at work was worried about her. Told her her grades were slipping and she should try her best to get out soon. She never listened. Never even responded.

After the initial grief had passed, and the doctors deemed her stable enough to let her leave the hospital, all the pain and sadness turned to anger. She hated the Capitol, more than she had before. She hated it more than she thought she had been capable of hating anything. If she had the chance, she told herself, she would kill everyone in the Capitol, and everyone associated with it. She would kill every single one of those sick fucks drinking wine and eating cake and talking about how _good_ the District citizens had it, how they should be _grateful_. She would murder every single one of their white-clad soulless guard-dogs, and anyone and everyone who had played a part in creating the regime that was responsible for her and her family's suffering, responsible for Cypress' death, and the deaths of countless other citizens who had done nothing more than tried to _survive._

If anything, that was what kept Rose going. She didn't have any hope for the future. The only thing that burned inside of her chest was red-hot hatred for the Capitol and their regime. She went to work, ate dinner, went on walks. But she hardly ever felt any of it. She withdrew from her friends, from her family, until the only thing she did was eat, work, sleep. Rinse and repeat, day in and day out, waiting for that fire of hatred to burn out so she could finally die.

* * *

 **Cedar Wayne**

 **Six months ago**

"You want to talk about today?" Caleb asked.

It was sometime after midnight as they sat underneath a tree, still too young to be cut down. The half-dead flashlight Caleb had brought was barely enough for Cedar to see his hands.

Cedar just shrugged, keeping his eyes trained at his hands, even after he stopped signing. He didn't want to look his best friend in the face. He felt his insides shutting down and his skin getting cold. Caleb knew what the beginnings of a meltdown looked like, so he signed slowly and kept his face gentle.

"I just—I tried to do something today and it didn't work. And I ruined it for my family and—yeah."

"Cedar, you don't have to blame yourself. You know your family doesn't blame you either."

"I know. It's just—I know Dani and Oliver were disappointed. And I hate seeing him so upset." He stopped as his hands started shaking and his eyes filled. He turned away from Caleb and buried his face in his arms. One of the nice things about being Deaf was that he could end a conversation as easily as putting his hands over his eyes.

Caleb knew better than to tap him while he was like this. Usually that was one of the ways to get a Deaf person's attention, but that didn't mix well with touch aversion, so he'd just have to wait until Cedar was good and ready to talk again.

Finally, there was a light touch on his toes. It was far enough away from him that it didn't immediately make him freak out, and he slowly lifted his eyes up. Caleb had moved in front of him. "Maybe it's a little late for you to be out. Let's go home. You need to sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."

He shrugged. He didn't really want to go home. The thought of laying in bed, with the blankets all over him, on that porch that was always too hot or too cold, with the walls closing in on him, made him feel claustrophobic. But he figured that he was right. Maybe by the time they got back to his house he would feel okay enough to go to bed.

He nodded and stood up, brushing the pine needles off the back of his pants.

They walked back towards town in silence. Cedar was glad for it. He didn't want to have to focus on talking at the moment. He just looked up at the stars, so bright and clear above them.

When they reached his house, he waved goodbye to Caleb and went to his room.

He slept on the porch, since the house only had two bedrooms, and his parents had one and his sister and son had the other. His sister's husband was busy saving up to get a house for them, but that was still a long ways off. Cedar didn't mind the porch so much though. Sure, sometimes it was hard because it never seemed to be the right temperature, and everyone had to go through there to get into the backyard—which wasn't much more than ten square feet of dead grass with an elm tree and a tiny garden—but he liked having the privacy. It let him get out at night whenever he wanted.

He lit the woodstove and shoved a log inside, figuring that would make it warm enough to lull him to sleep and he'd be good until morning. He sat on the edge of his bed for a few minutes in the dark, looking out of the bug screen into the yard. Things always looked so different at night. Everything was all blues and greens and purples; a monochromatic world covered in milky white moonlight. He had always loved nighttime. So much quieter. It seemed like the only time he could feel calm. During the day everyone was always moving and touching him. He had heard from other autistic people that sometimes it sounded like all the sounds were too loud, and Cedar was glad he couldn't hear them.

But nighttime was so much simpler, and prettier too.

He thought about the day, thought about everything that had gone wrong. He was fourteen, he kept telling himself, he was too old to be having meltdowns all because he had to try and communicate with a hearing person and they didn't understand his attempts at communication, an awkward mix of charades and sign language. His sister had gone off to take Oliver to the bathroom, and left him in line at the store. They were going to go and have lunch at Oliver's favorite place, and the little guy had been so excited about it. But he had intuited, in that way toddlers seemingly always could, that Cedar couldn't enjoy himself as much as he ought to. It had ruined the day for him, he knew it had. That, of course, only made Cedar feel _worse_ , and no matter how much Dani tried to insist that it was okay, he knew he had disappointed his nephew, who was just about the biggest and brightest light in his life. That funk had followed him all day, and made things that were already difficult basically impossible, and made things that were usually achievable a struggle. And of course, he had to help with chores, and chop wood, and his dad kept asking him to do things, and Cedar didn't feel like he could have asked to have a few moments to recover from the past ten hours of overstimulation, so it had just gotten exponentially worse until he had to lock himself in his room.

After his family had gone to bed, he went and found Caleb, knocking at his window as quietly as he knew how, and they went out in the woods for a little while so he could calm down.

He _hated_ being a burden to his family, it always made him feel terrible. He hated being different, he hated struggling with things that other people didn't have to. He was fourteen years old, he should be able to handle a fucking _language barrier._

He laid down with a heavy sigh and tapped his fingers on his chest, trying to lull himself into sleep. He'd feel better in the morning, he thought to himself. He always did.

* * *

 **Cedar Wayne**

 **Present Day**

The heavy stamping of a foot woke Cedar. His dad had learned after a couple of anxiety attacks triggered by being touched into wakefulness that vibrations on the floor was a better strategy.

He sat up and looked up at his dad. "You'd better get up before Dani and Oliver get the bathroom, otherwise it'll be an hour until you get in there," he said.

He nodded and as the door shut, Cedar slipped out of bed. Shivering in the cold, he grabbed the clothes for Reaping Day that he had set out the night before and went quickly to the bathroom.

He bathed, but already the day was off to a bad start. The towel that he usually used, which his dad had bought especially for him because the coarseness of all the other towels was sensory hell, was still being washed. He couldn't even enjoy a god damn _bath_ without some stupid thing ruining it.

He tried to keep it from totally sending him into meltdown mode, though. Reaping Day was stressful enough when he wasn't getting overstimulated.

As he left the bathroom, his step-dad was making oatmeal in the kitchen.

He looked up as Caleb entered the room, and put the spoon down long enough to give a quick "Good morning."

David had been his step-dad longer than his mother had been in his life. After his dad realized he was gay, when Cedar was four, they parted amicably and David came into their lives a year or so after. His mom had never really bothered to learn sign language, so their relationship didn't really get much more personal than the occasional brunches with her and his sister. Dani was much closer to their mom, and she usually acted as interpreter. To Cedar, David was his other parent.

He sat down at the table, a book in his hand. Reading was his hobby. He took books everywhere he went. It was hard for him to take part in conversation, even when everyone was speaking in sign for his benefit, so he usually turned to a book. It calmed him down, too, allowed him to disconnect from the world.

After a minute, though, David put a bowl of oatmeal down in front of him. As he attacked the thick stuff with a spoon, Oliver came running in on his two-year-old legs, absolutely naked and soaking wet.

Dani came in after him, presumably shouting something at him. Cedar laughed as his sister scooped her son up in a towel and carried him back out.

"He got away from her, didn't he?" David said, a wide smile on his face.

An hour later, they left the house towards the bus station. The ride to the center of the District was only an hour and a half, but Cedar's dad always wanted to get there early to head off the line. Cedar didn't mind that so much. But he always hated the Reapings. Being roped in places was hard enough; add that onto the thought of being Reaped and the enormous crowds and it was stress city.

Cedar couldn't even stand with Caleb during it, since he hadn't gotten his gender marker changed and had to stand in the girls' section.

At least he could be with Baron, Thomas, and Xavier, though. They weren't nearly as good at sign language, or at being a source of comfort, as Caleb was, but they hadn't known him since he was six, so it was understandable.

Cedar said goodbye to his family as they got the Square, and went to stand in the short line. He rubbed his arms repeatedly, always feeling nervous and exposed when he was standing alone in a place he wasn't familiar with. Soon enough he was sent into the pens, and walked idly around the perimeter while he waited for someone else to find him.

Thomas was the first to show up. He waved and came over.

"How are you?" he asked. Thomas had the bad habit of talking when he signed, which was distracting to say the least, but at least he talked in the right order for sign language. He probably sounded _super_ weird to everyone around him, though.

"I'm fine," he said. It was almost automatic to respond like that, even if he _wasn't_ fine. "Stressed, you know."

"Yeah. Reaping days are stressful. Have you seen Caleb?"

"No, not since last night. We talked and stuff. Have you?"

"No. He's probably still at home. It's gotta take his family hours to get ready, with four siblings."

"Yeah."

Baron and Xavier joined them soon enough, and they all talked for a little while, and as the pen filled up, Cedar made his way to the upper left corner so he could see the stage. Every year he complained to Mabel, the woman who usually interpreted for him at school and things, that they should really just put screens in the square so that he could see the interpreter the Capitol sent better.

She signed a few things at him, and he tried to get a feel for how she signed. He was pretty sure the Capitolites spoke a slightly different version of sign language than he did, so it was always difficult at the beginning of the Reapings. Lucky for him, he had the whole Treaty of Treason to watch her and get used to it, before the actual "important" stuff started.

When the Mayor stepped away from the Podium, their Escort, a woman whose name Cedar couldn't remember and who was dressed in a full-length ballgown covered in bright, twinkling lightbulbs made to resemble the night sky, replaced him. For a moment, Cedar was distracted by her outfit and forgot that he was supposed to be watching the interpreter, until he saw her mouth moving.

"A wonderful day for a Reaping, isn't it?" she was saying by the time Cedar tuned in. "Now, as a reminder to everyone, the Quarter Quell this year: the name I pull from the lottery will choose another citizen within their age group who will go into the Hunger Games. Volunteers will be allowed like every other year. Now, who shall we do first?" There was a momentary pause, as if she were waiting for a response. "Well. I suppose let's do the ladies!" Cedar watched her walk across the stage, dig around in the girl's bowl, and then go back to the microphone.

He looked to the interpreter. He was always tempted to look away while they spelled out the names. He hated knowing who was going in. But concern for his friends kept his eyes glued there.

"Irina Oakland."

A slight girl walked up to the stage, looking around nervously. She looked older, but she was so malnourished it was difficult to tell. Starvation tended to add years.

"Do you have a name for someone to replace you?" the Escort asked. After a long moment, he watched as the interpreter spelled out: "Rosewood Hart." That name sounded familiar, but Cedar couldn't remember where.

There must have been some kind of sound behind Cedar, because all of a sudden everyone turned. He saw a girl—a woman, really—pushing her way out of the pen, trying to fight past Peacekeepers in an attempt to get away. She was shouting something and he couldn't quite read her lips—save for the word "fuck" and variations thereof rather often.

A group of four Peacekeepers descended on her, grabbing her and dragging her up towards the stage. She was kicking, biting, clawing, and, presumably, shouting and swearing the whole way. Cedar wondered why they didn't just tase her. He figured it wouldn't be a good look.

They ended up having to cuff her to keep her from attacking the Escort, and two of them stood behind her, ready to grab her again if she tried to make a run for it. There was a look in her eyes, like a hunted animal surrounded by enemies. It wasn't a look he had seen on any human outside of the Arena, and he wondered what had happened to her that made her look like that.

He was watching Rose for a moment while the Escort read out the boy's name.

He kept his eyes on the interpreter, his hands clenched into fists as anxiety threatened to shut his throat.

The guy seemed to be stuttering, so the interpreter kept having to stop and go as she translated. Finally, she stopped, and just watched the kid, and Cedar's eyes shifted. He was pointing into the crowd, into the fourteen-year-old's section. Cedar traced a line from the kid's finger… right to his face. Instinctively, he stepped to the side,but it was too late. The Peacekeeper's sights were honed in on him, and if he didn't move in a second, they were going to drag him like they had done to Rosewood.

But he couldn't get his body to move. All of a sudden, he felt every bit of cognition in his brain shut down, and he knew in a half second he was going to freak out. His mind was having a war with itself—either he go up to the stage of his own volition, or the Peacekeepers would have to grab him and pull him. The thought of those white gloves landing on him finally sprung his legs to life, and he went towards the stage. He nearly tripped on the stairs because his knees were shaking so bad, and as he neared the microphone, the Escort's smile did little to comfort him. She said something to him, and he glanced at the interpreter, his eyes wide and full or terror.

"Your name," she said. He had to ask her to repeat it twice before it sunk in. He signed it to her, though she should have known already.

He watched as her mouth moved, formed the syllables to his name, syllables he hadn't heard spoken aloud since he was four and a half, while his hearing was finally starting to fade into nothingness.

Somehow, watching her say his name cemented everything, and he felt his eyes roll into his head.

He'd never fainted before, he didn't think. Then again, he'd never been in a situation like this.

He didn't know what happened after he fell, but he woke up on the couch in the goodbye room in the Justice Building. A doctor was hanging over him.

She was saying something, but Cedar shook his head. The doctor frowned.

He pushed at her, trying to talk, trying to remember how, but he knew that all that was coming out of his mouth were garbled vocalizations that only sometimes resembled words.

She stepped back, and Cedar curled up into a ball, shouting.

The floor vibrated, and he looked up. His interpreter, Mabel, was standing at the door.

"Calm down," she said, coming over to him.

The doctor talked to her for a second.

"The doctor wants to know if you've ever fainted before," she said.

Cedar didn't respond, he just stood up and made for the door. Of course, Mabel stopped him. "You can't go out there," she said. Her eyes filled. "I'm so sorry. Your parents will be in in a second—the doctor just wanted to make sure you were okay."

He stared at her with wide eyes, watching her sign to him. Then, he shook his head, backing away from her. He felt like he was going to fall over, and he couldn't get his mind to work long enough for him to formulate a sentence. He was panicking, shutting down, he wanted to get out of this room, wanted to get out of the building, out of the district, wanted to split himself open and fly away so he wouldn't have to feel so cramped in his own god damn body anymore.

"You have to calm down, or they'll bring the Peacekeepers in. Where's your ball? Get your ball."

He fumbled around in the pockets of his pants and drew out the ball, looking down at its faded rainbow of color. He sat down and shut his eyes as he squeezed and rubbed the ball. He took a deep breath in, and then let it out, and repeated that until he didn't quite feel like he was going to die.

Then, he looked up at Mabel again, and saw that she was crying, and he realized that _he_ was crying, and the doctor was still standing there looking concerned.

Mabel turned and looked at her and said something, and she left. Cedar felt immediate relief. He _hated_ doctors. He had been around them off and on his whole life, so he had grown to hate them.

"Are you okay?"

He shook his head, his hands too occupied with stimming to sign back.

"Of course. I know you're not. This is terrifying. Do you want me to bring your family in, or do you need a minute?"

He put the ball in his lap, only long enough to sign "wait" before he went back to rocking back and forth and humming and squeezing his ball.

Finally, he rubbed his eyes and stood up, still fondling the rough rubbery texture of his childhood stim toy. He went over to the couch.

"Ready?" Mabel asked.

He nodded.

"I'll be back in to interpret for anyone else who comes."

Another nod.

She opened the door and his parents came in, followed by Dani, Oliver, and Dani's husband Petre.

Oliver was wailing, and everyone else's faces were full of fear and anguish. Even though he was only two, he had picked up on the adult's suffering and, not knowing what else to do, had started crying as well.

His dad hugged him, holding him tightly, as if he would be able to keep him there, keep them from taking him away to the train. He figured there were probably words being said, but they weren't for Cedar's benefit anyway.

After a moment, his dad moved and Oliver climbed into his lap. Cedar hushed him and rocked him back and forth. Dani sat down and wrapped her arms around the two of them. He could feel her tears fall onto his shoulder, could see her breath shudder in her chest.

It was a long time before anyone wanted to pull away long enough to sign.

"It's going to be okay," was the first thing his dad said. That was ridiculous, of course, and he should know better than to try and delude any of them into thinking anything was going to be _remotely_ okay. He was going into the fucking _Hunger Games_. He could count the number of Victors from their District in the past fifty years on his _fingers_. Sure, they weren't as bad off as some of the other Districts, and they won three years ago, both District Partners made it out, but that didn't mean he had any kind of chance.

But he didn't sign his thoughts. All he did was nod along.

"We love you so much Cedar," Dani said then. "We want you to come back, okay? Do your best to come back."

"I will," he said.

Naturally, there was more hugging than talking going around, up until they were about to leave.

"I wish I had something to give you," Dani said.

Cedar shrugged. "I've got my ball," he said, producing the worn out old thing. "They only let you take one token in, so I figure it's good to have something practical."

"I want—" her hands shook, "I want to give you something, though."

She searched around for a moment before producing a pen from her purse. She took Cedar's left hand in hers and drew a heart on his skin. "I know it's not much. But I hope it will remind you of us," she said after putting the pen back.

He started sobbing then, and he couldn't bring himself to let go of his family. He didn't want to have to go, didn't want to have this inked heart be the only thing he had to remember them by in his last moments of life. But no one had brought anything. They had all assumed they would be going home together that afternoon.

Finally, they left, and Cedar was alone for a few moments. His mom came in then, her eyes full of tears. Mabel came in after her. She had never been good at sign language, but now Cedar wished he had made her become fluent, because he didn't want to have to have a secondhand goodbye from his mother. She embraced him, and told him many of the same things his dad had. He said many of the same things in response. It was weird, how repetitive everything felt. He wondered if it was like this for everyone.

Soon, his mom left too. His friends came, and everything was the same. They were all sad, they were all crying, they all stumbled through goodbyes as they took moments to hug or wipe their eyes. Every time he had to go through this, he felt everything get exponentially darker. Chances were, he'd never see any of them every again. How many more goodbyes could he take? How much more torture could he undergo before he just turned to dust?

It was all he could do not to completely shut down, to make it so that _no one_ could say goodbye to him, so that none of them could have the closure they all needed.

Finally, everyone had left besides Mabel. She stood awkwardly in the center of the room. She and Cedar watched one another.

Finally, she took a breath. "I would do anything to take your place," she said. "You know I would. I'd do anything in the world to make it so that you didn't have to go. I wish—" she stopped as she tilted her head up, trying to stem the tears that threatened to throw themselves out of her eyes and down her face. "I wish I could even just go with you, a little piece of home, up until you have to go into the Arena. But they're going to give you interpreters in the Capitol. I know it's going to be hard, being in a new place, with the Games hanging over you, and everything—but I want you to do your best to be strong and work through it. I know you haven't always had the easiest time, living in a world of Hearing people and people who don't understand what an amazing kid you are—but I want you to try and be the best version of yourself you can be, while you're there, okay?"

He nodded, but didn't reply. Instead, he stood, crossed the room, and hugged her tightly. He had known her since he was eight, she was like a fourth caretaker to him. She was more than his interpreter.

Cedar thought that he had been all cried out, but new tears managed to come as he said goodbye to Mabel. The hour was almost up, and he knew he'd have to go to the car soon, that the car would take him to the train station and then he'd leave District Seven and all its stupid trees behind.

The door opened behind Mabel's shoulder and it was a Peacekeeper, with the Escort and the Capitol interpreter behind her.

Cedar took a step back, feeling new fear threaten to take hold of his body. Carefully, Mabel stepped up next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

He looked at her, knowing he probably looked like a scared child, but definitely feeling like one.

"You have to go," she said, her eyes full of gentleness and sadness and fear.

Slowly, he followed the Escort out, clenching and unclenching his hands, slapping his fists against his legs. He wasn't even entirely aware he was doing it as they left the Justice Building to a fancy black car with tinted windows.

* * *

 **Rosewood Hart**

 **Present day**

Rose had to be put in handcuffs just so the Peacekeepers could get her inside the Justice Building. But God knew she wasn't going to go quietly. She snapped and snarled and swore the whole way. Assuming the Capitol hadn't cut the cameras by then, every single viewer was getting an earful.

As they shut and locked her inside the room, Rose proceeded to throw herself at the door, shouting and banging on it with her hand.

"Watch it in there!" shouted the guards outside, "or you'll be sorry."

"Shut the fuck up," she snapped back. "I don't give a shit what you want from me, you're not getting it."

Then, her mother's voice came through the door. "Rosewood, step back from the door, or they're not going to let us in."

With a sigh, she retreated a few steps. "Alright," she said.

Her family came in, and although she knew they were all trying to hide it, there were tears in their eyes. They all gathered around on the couch, Rose being the center of attention. There were pleas from everyone for her to try and come back, to team up with her District partner, if he wouldn't hold her back, there were words of encouragement, and empty repetitions of "It'll be okay." By the end of the hour—since no one else would come to see her—Rose was the only one who hadn't started crying. She knew her family would notice it, but none of them would be brave enough to say anything.

She would miss her family, and she didn't _want_ to die, but she had been living with anger and grief for so long that she didn't know how to express this new layer of shittiness on top of the hundreds of layers of shittiness that had been accruing for her whole life.

All she could really think about, as she nodded along and hugged her family and let them have their closure, was that the moment she stepped into the Capitol, she was going to give them all hell. She was going to be the single most inconvenient tribute that had ever existed—except for, perhaps, one of the ones that had gone off and started a revolution. But she wasn't in this for something like that, not really. As much as she would have liked to see the Capitol burnt to the ground and their regime destroyed, she knew that was never going to happen. Everything was just too broken—one person wasn't going to change it. But God was she going to give them hell for being responsible for all the pain in misery that had become a constant in the Districts.

"Rosewood," her mother said, snapping her out of her ruminations.

Rose looked into her mother's eyes, the same color as hers.

"I don't want you doing anything foolish in some kind of attempt to get revenge. You know that won't bring her back."

"I _know_ it won't bring her back," she retorted, glaring. "I'm not _looking_ to bring her back. I want to make them regret taking her in the first place."

"You know doing foolish things isn't going to fix that either, sweetheart," her father put in. "No one in the Capitol has any idea what happened here, as terrible as it is."

"But they're all responsible. They're _all_ culpable, just like everyone who sat back and watched as they killed her and that man."

"Getting yourself killed isn't going to help."

"Maybe it'll make me feel better." Like she wasn't going to get killed anyway.

"Rose—" he stopped as the door opened.

"Time's up," the Peacekeeper said.

She started to get up, wanting to snap at her, wanting to do anything she could to disrupt the lull of oppression the Capitol had on all of them. But her brothers held her back.

"Okay," her father said to the Peacekeeper. He looked down at his daughter one last time. "Rosewood, I love you so much. We all do. We know you're going to be amazing."

They all hugged her, and then one by one left.

The Escort came with two more Peacekeepers to bring her out of the Justice Building. There were cameras there again, and she flipped each of them the bird before the Escort told her she needed to stop before they cuffed her again. She muttered something choice under her breath in response and just settled for twisting her ring around her finger. It was so old and beaten up, but she never took it off. Cypress had given it to her as an anniversary present, a few months before she died. It had been silver, at one point, but now it was so tarnished it was hardly recognizable. She didn't care though. It had been a gift from her girlfriend, and it always reminded her of her, and what happened to her. As she sat down in the car beside her District partner and his interpreter, she looked out the tinted windows as they neared the train station.

She felt something emptying in her heart, which surprised her. She had come to the conclusion a while ago that the only thing inside of her anymore was anger.

* * *

 **A/N: whoo! That was a long one lmao. Anywhomst, I'm doing nano this year, so even if I don't get the full 50,000 words out, hopefully it'll put me several chapters ahead so I can keep updating regularly!**

 **This was Rosewood Hart from** _ **Author-Hime**_ **and Cedar Wayne, who was my own tribute, since someone *cough*** _ **Sydni basicgay**_ ***cough cough* didn't get me a tribute.**

 **(I tease. We're best friends so i'm allowed to do that).**

 **Anyway, let me know what you think! I did my best to do right by Cedar's Deafness and autism, hopefully I did an okay job!**


	11. The Tortoise and the Capuchin

**Ranine Montaro**

 **One year ago**

There was a knock on the doorframe, bringing Ranine out of his thoughtless trance.

"Hey." It was his brother, evidently coming in to check on him. He did that a lot. Right then, though, he didn't particularly feel like being cared about.

When he didn't move for a minute, Ikat came in, shutting the door.

"I know you're awake, Rani," he said. He came and sat at the edge of the bed. "You okay?"

Ranine just continued staring at the wall.

After another moment of silence, Ikat tore the thin blankets off the edge of the bed, grabbed Ranine by his remaining foot, and started tickling him.

Of course, no one can continue to be stolid and silent while they're getting tickled, so of course he squealed and started hitting his older brother, trying to get him to let go.

"Stop Ikat!" he shouted through his involuntary giggles. "I want to be alone!" He was serious, of course. He _did_ want to be alone, but he knew that his brother wasn't going to listen to him.

"I don't care. You need to get your foot tickled, little man."

He struggled harder, and Ikat cried out as Ranine's foot connected with his jaw, and he dropped his ankle. Immediately, he scrambled away and hid his foot underneath the blankets.

"Shit, man," he said, rubbing his jaw though he was grinning. "You kick hard!"

"I told you not to tickle me," he replied, doing his best to throw up a glare in his direction.

He rolled his eyes, but got serious. "Come on," he said. "Tell me what's up."

"You _know_ what's up," he replied. He brought his knee up close to his chest and rested his chin on it. "Ever since my accident, I just—feel bad. So much of our money went towards medical bills and stuff, and now we're going to have to work twice as hard for my treatment, and I won't be able to work the same jobs and—I just feel like a burden."

Ikat crossed his legs on the bed and watched him for a long moment. "You know none of us would ever think you're a burden," he said.

Ranine just shrugged.

"That accident wasn't your fault. And sure, it was unfortunate, and maybe it set us back a few months putting money towards your hormones and stuff, but it's not the end of the world. You've been down for _days_. Don't tell me it's just because of that."

He shrugged again. The physical therapist had said that there might be some struggles with depression and PTSD, in addition to the phantom limb pains and things like that that were a result of having a limb amputated. Fortunately, Ranine didn't get many nightmares or flashbacks about the accident—though sometimes he involuntarily remembered the pain after falling and shattering his legs—but the depression… that was starting to be a problem. Add that onto the dysphoria, and just how unattainable hormones seemed to be for him, and he was pretty fucking miserable lately.

"Rani, come on. You can handle it. A couple more weeks and you'll be able to go back to work." He reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "I know it all seems far away and impossible, but we'll get there. You just gotta hold out until then."

"I know," he replied. "It's just—Ikat, I feel like such a burden. Maybe if everyone wasn't working to put stuff away for me, we'd be better off."

"Don't say that, kid. Mom and dad want you to be happy, they want to be able to give you the opportunity to have the body you want. That's _their_ choice. You're not a burden, you're our _family_."

He sighed. "Yeah. Thanks."

He looked at him piercingly for a moment, before seeming to realize that he wasn't going to get anything more out of him for the time being. "Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay Ikat. Thanks."

He left again, and after doing his best to fix the bed—he didn't want to put his prosthetic on just to fix the sheets—Ranine laid back down and resumed his staring contest with the wall.

He thought for a long time about his options. He knew he didn't want to have to make his parents sacrifice their livelihoods for him. He didn't have many alternatives, he realized. If he wanted to be able to pay for his own hormones, there was only one thing he could do: he'd have to volunteer for the Hunger Games.

* * *

 **Viola Batiste**

 **Eleven months ago**

Viola knocked on the half-open door to jeir father's workshop, seeing him measuring out swaths of fabric along a pattern sent to him by some fashion designer in District One.

After a moment, he looked up. "Hi," he said, looking at jer over his glasses. "What can I do for you, kid?"

"Well—" Viola faltered, unsure exactly how to ask. It had been swimming around in jeir head for a few days now, but every time jee had tried to find the words to ask, jee drew up a blank. "I was wondering, since I'm twelve now, and since I told everyone about how I'm a demi-girl—I was wondering if we'd be able to go and get my name changed."

"Oh," he said. He took his glasses off and rose. He crossed the room and stroked jeir hair. "Yes, of course we can. You want to change it to Viola?"

Jee nodded.

"Alright. Well, maybe this weekend we can take a trip down to the Justice Building and get that sorted out for you, right?"

Jee nodded again, but then a smile broke across jeir face and jee threw jeir arms around him. "Thank you," jee said, burying jeir face into his shirt.

He chuckled and rubbed jeir back. "Of course, sweetheart," he said. "Anything."

As he had promised, the very next weekend, Viola and jeir father went down to the bus station for the short ride to the Justice Building.

As they walked in, Viola couldn't help but look around in interest. Although it was old, and all the Justice Buildings looked the same, it was one of the prettiest buildings in the District. It had high ceilings buttressed by enormous columns, and tapestries with the national symbol hung every few feet on the wall. Peacekeepers with their blank helmets stood like statues every so often, and though they made jem nervous, they gave the whole building an air of officiality. Smartly-dressed government workers bustled from room to room, some of them holding stacks of papers, others talking quietly with one another.

Jeir father approached the front desk, tugging jem by the hand.

"Excuse me," he said to the receptionist. "Where can I go to change my child's name?"

The man looked up with his eyes but not his head. "Down in the hall of records." He gestured vaguely.

Viola's father looked in the direction he had indicated before nodding. "Thank you."

They went to the archway marked "Hall of Records." and started wandering down the long corridor, past rooms, marked and unmarked, until they found a door labelled "Name and gender marker changes."

"Well that wasn't too hard to find," jeir father said. He opened the door and poked his head inside. "Hello," he said, presumably to someone inside. "I'm here to get my child's name changed."

A cool voice from inside replied, "This is the place. Please come in."

He swung the door open and Viola followed him in, looking around.

It was a neat enough office, but jee noticed that there were cardboard filing boxes stacked in the corner, and some of them looked like they were about ready to burst at the seems.

There were two chairs seated in front of the desk, and the woman sitting behind it motioned, having stood when they came in.

"Please," she said.

They sat. Viola swept jeir eyes over the desk in from of jem: a computer, a few folders, and bobblehead of President Oak. Jee wondered if that was a requirement for everyone who worked there.

"My name is Marsilla McDarmont. I'm the head of transgender and nonbinary services for the District."

"I'm Damien Batiste, and this is my daughter."

"Viola," jee said, sitting up as straight as jee could.

"Good to meet you," Marsilla said, white teeth flashing behind dark lips. "So you wanted to change your name?"

Jee nodded.

She turned her attention to Viola's father. "Well, lucky for us, the system has been pretty streamlined, so all we have to do is pull their birth certificate, have you fill out a form, and change the birth certificate. The rest is all paperwork on my end, making sure everything in the system gets changed."

"Great," jeir dad said. "And—jee can't change jeir legal gender maker until jee's sixteen?"

Marsilla nodded. "Unfortunately," she said with a sympathetic look to Viola. "There have been a few campaigns to lower it to Reaping age, but as yet nothing's happened."

"I'm sure it'll be fine, won't it Viola?" he said, looking down at jem.

Jee just nodded. Jee would _like_ to get jeir gendermaker changed, but even now jee wasn't really sure _what_ jee would change it to—whether an "X" or an "F" was more appropriate.

"Well, I'll go get that paperwork ready, and pull up the birth certificate. If you'd just wait here for a moment."

She stood up and left, and Viola's father reached out and stroked jeir hair for a moment. "Isn't this exciting?" he asked absently, looking around the office.

Viola nodded underneath his palm. "I'm really happy. I won't have to tell my teachers to use the right name anymore. It'll just be on their rosters."

"Yep."

After a few minutes, Marsilla returned, a folder and a piece of light green paper in her hand.

"Here we are," she said. She handed the folder over to Viola's father, and proceeded to write something down on a sticky note.

Viola's father opened up the folder and started reading through the form, filling in the spaces as required.

When he got to the bottom, he handed the sheet over and pointed at a space on the bottom. "Sign your name there," he said.

Jee nodded and wrote jeir name in jeir scrappy twelve-year-old handwriting.

With that, he handed the sheet back over to Marsilla. "Congratulations, Viola," she said, smiling. "Everything should be good and changed within the next week or two."

"Thank you," jeir father said. "This means a lot."

"Can I ask you something?" she started, leaning over the desk to look down at Viola. "What made you choose the name Viola? Where did you think of it?"

"We—we read Twelfth Night in class," jee said, a little shyly. Jee had been somewhat self-conscious about picking jeir new name off of a character in a story. "I really—liked her. Because she had to pretend to be a boy just to get by. That was how I felt, for a while."

"That's lovely, sweetheart," she replied. "I chose my name after a character in my favorite nursery rhyme."

Jee smiled, glad for the solidarity.

Jeir father stood, putting his jacket back on. "Well, thank you again. We'd best be getting back home."

"Bye now."

Viola felt like jee could float with how excited jee was. Next year, jeir teachers were going to read the roster and see "Viola Batiste" written there, like it should be. There wouldn't be any confusion during first role call, with a hurried scribble as a reminder. Sure, as Viola got older there would still be some confusion. Jee would get tall and hairy and jeir voice would deepen. But maybe someday, someday soon, jeir parents could put jem on hormones that would take all of that away and replace it with feminine traits.

Jee wasn't worried about things that were so far in the future though. Jeir name had been changed, and that was all that jee had wanted for now.

* * *

 **Ranine Montero**

 **Present day**

Ranine was the first one up on Reaping Day. Usually this wasn't the case, but now that he was the only one in the family whose name was going into the bowls, and that he was old enough to get ready on his own, the rest of his family tended to rise later.

This meant, of course, that he didn't have to fight for control of the bathroom. He took a bath and then dressed in his favorite button up. He didn't get the opportunity to wear it often, and Reapings were an excuse to dress in the way he wished he could dress all the time. The button up was big on him, of course, and he wore a tight shirt underneath it in an attempt to hide his boobs, and although he liked the outfit, he couldn't help the dysphoria at the sight of bumps attached to his chest, just a little too big to be a cis man's.

As he was putting his prosthetic on after putting his pants on, he heard a knock on the front door.

He hurriedly tightened the straps and went to the living room. He opened the door and saw that it was one of his friends Breden. "Good morning, Mr. Montero," he said, bowing deeply.

Ranine smiled. "Alright, you idiot, stand up. What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out before we had to go to the Reaping."

"Yeah, that should be fine, so long as we don't go too far."

"Who's at the door, Ranine?" Ikat's voice asked from behind them.

He turned and looked at his brother. "Just Breden."

"Oh. Hey Breden."

"Hey man."

"Come on," Ranine said, slipping his shoes on. "Let's walk around a while. I'm going out, Ikat. I'll be back before we have to leave."

"Okay Rani."

He shut the door behind him as he emerged out onto the sidewalk. It was deathly quiet. It seemed like even the birds were in mourning.

"So laddy, how are you feeling on this fine Reaping Day?" Breden asked, before launching into a sardonic, absolutely horrible rendition of their national anthem.

Ranine shoved him. "Will you shut up? People are sleeping." He rolled his eyes. "I don't know how you can manage to be in such high spirits."

"Well, _someone's_ gotta enjoy themselves around here. It's downright dreary."

"Come on man, have some respect."

"I have the _utmost_ respect for the brave souls who are sacrificing themselves for the glory of Panem!" he exclaimed, pretending to be offended.

Ranine sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Besides, if I don't laugh, I'll cry. Is that a good enough reason to crack jokes?"

"Yes, I know. This shit's horrible. It's all we can do to not just curl up and die."

He smiled at him slightly. "So… how's Chiffon?" His smile widened.

Ranine sighed and rolled his eyes. "You _know_ how Chiffon is," he replied, playing dumb.

"I mean… how's it going with… the _wooing_."

He shoved him again. "I'm not wooing her!" he hissed. "She's our friend, Breden, and chances are we aren't ever going to be anything else."

He snorted. "Alright, man. Whatever you say."

While Ranine _did_ have a crush on his friend, he doubted anything was ever going to happen. She was two years older than he was, and besides—she was way too pretty for him. Like, she was so pretty and nice and amazing that he would bet that _everyone_ their age who liked girls had a crush on Chiffon.

He sighed and rubbed his arms, trying to fight the blush that was rising on his face.

He didn't want to think about his crush on Chiffon. Every time he thought too hard about it, he ended up wanting to talk to her about it, and of course _that_ was never going to happen, so he was just distressing himself for basically no reason.

They walked around the block a few times before Breden stopped in front of Ranine's house. "Well, laddy," he said grandly with another bow, "I bid thee _adeiu._ I'll see you at the Reaping. We should do something tonight."

"Yeah, okay. Bye Breden."

He waved and went back inside, finding his parents in the kitchen cooking breakfast.

"Is Ikat in the bath?" he asked, snatching up a piece of bread his mother was cutting.

She playfully smacked him on the arm, smiling. "Yeah, he should be out soon though."

"Well, the smell of food will probably bring him along sooner or later," he said, sitting down at the table.

Soon enough he did emerge, ruffling Ranine's hair as he went by.

They ate together, and then as the hour got on, they gradually made their way out the door and towards the square. It was a long walk, but none of them really minded it. Walking was always a nice way to pass the time, his father always said. Even Ranine, who had trouble walking on the uneven pavement because of his prosthetic, liked to occasionally get out of the house and go on a walk.

Ranine kept close to Ikat as they walked, feeling that same nervousness that he felt every Reaping Day.

"You okay bro?" Ikat asked, leaning closer to him.

"As okay as I can be."

"Come on, it'll be fine. I made it through, didn't I?"

He shrugged slightly. Even though he intended on volunteering in three years, he was afraid of being Reaped before he was ready. He had been training in whatever ways he could, building up strength, trying to get skilled at a weapon, working on his endurance—he knew that his chances of winning against the Careers was small, but he didn't see any other choice. Who knew, maybe if he was good enough, he could do it. He tried to keep the harshness of reality out of his head, since he knew that would just make him miserable and eventually make him back out of his promise to himself.

He still hadn't told anyone of his intention to Volunteer. He didn't know if he ever would, honestly. He didn't want to burden them with that knowledge. Maybe he would wait until the goodbyes to explain himself.

Soon, they were at the square. He hugged his family and waved to them as they went to the spectator's section, and Ranine went to line.

After getting his blood drawn, he reluctantly made his way to the fifteen-year-old's section. He looked around for Breden. He wished he could talk to Chiffon for a few minutes. She always made him feel better when he was nervous. Usually all Breden did was distract him with humor. Of course, she would be in the eighteen-year-old's section, but he told himself he would go and find her after the Reaping.

"Ranine!" Breden called from behind him.

He stood on his toes, looking for his friend, cursing his shortness. He saw a pale arm sticking up out of the crowd waving, and a sprig of black hair jumping up out of the sea of heads. He started pushing towards that direction, and found Breden.

"Hey man," he said, clapping him on the back. "How you feeling? Feeling good? Feeling _pumped_?"

"People are being Reaped, Breden, I'm not really in the mood for this," he replied.

He threw an arm around him and grinned. "Come on, don't be such a baby. It's our life, Ranine, we can't change it. We might as well make jokes to stave off the depression."

He sighed. "Whatever," he said quietly.

After a moment of silence, Breden nudged him. "You're not mad at me are you?" he asked.

"No," he replied. "It's just—"

"What?"

"I dunno. This shit is all wrong. It's all messed up. What are we supposed to do about it? What _can_ we do about it?"

"That's exactly my point," he said. "If we're not willing to get ourselves killed for some pointless revolution, why take it seriously? The people in the Capitol don't."

"No, they take it seriously. Just in a different way."

"Listen, I get it. And it's horrible to watch kids die every year. I wish I didn't have to. But if we don't find ways to laugh and be happy, especially when our lives are nothing but doom and gloom, then what's the point of living? Even if it's dark and gross and wrong—so are our whole _existences_ , Rani. So my philosophy is, make jokes to fit the situation."

He shrugged. He had a point, and he had long since reached the conclusion that this was a coping mechanism of Breden's—though whether he knew it himself was still up in the air.

Their conversation was stopped as the anthem droned to a quiet hum and the mayor took the stage. She was a short woman, one of the youngest mayors District Eight had ever had, but she probably had the most serious face Ranine had ever seen.

"Good morning," she said. If she was in her personal life anything like she was in her professional, she must have been the absolute drabbest person on the planet. "I would like to welcome you all to the Reaping for the one-hundred and fiftieth Hunger Games in District Eight."

The only person who applauded was the Escort, a woman who was as different from the mayor as was probably possible. She was tall, long, and seemed to always have waves of energy radiating off of her. It was exhausting, even from this distance.

"We will begin with the traditional reading of the Treaty of Treason."

It was almost as if a collective groan shifted through the crowd, though next to no noise was made. He looked at Breden, who subtly mimed a noose hanging him. Ranine rolled his eyes but had to stifle a smile.

As the reading ended, the Escort took center stage, and made sure to talk especially loud into the microphone in order to wake everyone up.

Ranine shifted back and forth on his feet for a moment. It was hard to rest his weight on the crude prosthetic without making his stump hurt, but putting all his weight on the other leg was just as uncomfortable. Standing for long periods of time was always miserable.

"So let's do the gentlemen first!" she tiptoed over to the boy's bowl and dug her hand around until she seemed satisfied, and clutched a strip of paper. She went back to the microphone and announced, "Garret Streiner!"

A kid Ranine's age filed out of the pen behind him and Breden, and he felt a moment of fear and anxiety shoot through him. That meant he could pick him, or Breden, or someone else in his age group he knew. He stiffened.

"Relax," Breden said in his ear. "It'll be fine, remember?"

Ranine nodded tightly.

"Do you have the name of someone to replace you?"

The guy seemed to search around in his head for a moment, trying to grasp at a name that wasn't attached to a face, someone he could call with as little guilt as possible. Ranine understood, of course. There was no way to escape how the Reaped this year would inevitably feel, but there were ways to lessen the pain. He wondered, briefly, if you even had to say a name, or if you could point. There hadn't been any details released to say otherwise, but in a time like this, straying from the norm wasn't really recommended.

Finally, the guy leaned down to the microphone. "Uh… Ranine Montero," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Ranine did a double take, and he heard—vaguely, as if he were talking underwater—Breden say "What the fuck?"

He shook his head and clutched at his friend's sleeve. Sure, he had been planning to Volunteer, to go into the Games, to risk everything to make his and his family's life better, but he wasn't ready yet—and now, faced with the reality, the terror of actually having to go through it, he started to wonder if even _planning_ to go into the Games in the first place had been a good idea. Maybe this was the universe's way of chastising him.

He looked around desperately, as if there might be a way out, but he saw the Peacekeepers advancing as the crowd shrunk from around him.

Clenching his hands into fists, he left the pen. He was biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood, but he hardly felt the pain. He just made his way mechanically to the stage.

He shook the Escort's hand—really, he basically just stood limply and let her tug his hand up and down—and watched as she turned back to the crowd. He felt everyone's eyes on him—not just the eyes of the District, but of the Capitol, those people in the far off land of bright colors and money and plastic surgery, the people who would be scrutinizing his every move in the next few hours.

He barely heard the Escort as she called out a name, barely saw as a young girl came up the stage, and only zoned in long enough to hear her pick her replacement. "Viola Batiste!"

He saw the crowd of thirteen-year-olds shift, creating a void for the victim. Although his heart was beating in his eyes and it felt like his lungs were going to burst, he saw as jee slowly left the crowd and came up to the stage. Jee kept glancing over jeir shoulder. As jee shook the Escort's hand, jee seemed to spot whatever it was in the crowd jeir eyes had been searching for, and jee hurriedly grabbed Ranine's hand and looked over jeir shoulder.

The Escort, initially seeming taken aback but desperate to make it seem like nothing was amiss, quickly said, "Citizens! The Tributes from District Eight!"

She was the only one who applauded, but she acted as though everyone was.

Ranine thought he heard a shout from behind him, but they were whisked off to the Justice Building and he didn't have a chance to look back.

Once the door shut, he really started to break down. He felt like he was going to pass out from lack of oxygen. He sat down on the couch, clutched his head in his hands, and hyperventilated. His eyes started swimming, but he heard the door open and looked up.

It was his parents and Ikat.

"I wish I could have Volunteered for you, Rani," was the first thing Ikat said.

He just shook his head. How could he allow his brother to take his place in this? How could he let anyone do anything for him?

"No—guys—"

"You're going to be okay, I know you are," his mother was saying. Ranine looked up at her as he thought he heard her voice crack. He didn't know if he had ever seen his mother cry. She was one of the strongest and most resilient people he knew. She was always looking out for everyone, even when she could barely keep herself going, she would pull herself together, do whatever it took, to help someone else.

"Mom, please—"

"You're strong, and you're going to be amazing—"

"Mom!" Finally, she fell silent.

"I don't—I need to tell you guys something."

"What is it?" his father asked.

"I was going to—when I was eighteen, I was going to Volunteer."

"What?" Ikat exclaimed. "How—how could you not tell me?"

"I was going to," he said. "I was just going to wait until I was about to do it."

"But _why_ Ranine?" his mother asked, her voice pleading, earnest, _desperate_.

"Because," he said, but stopped, struggling to find the words. He _knew_ why, but it was about things that were so deeply personal to him, things he tended to keep locked up inside unless, on very, very rare occasions, Ikat managed to draw them out of him. "I didn't want to be a burden anymore. I figured, if I trained, if I got good enough, I could Volunteer, and maybe I would stand a chance. And if I won, everything would be easy. We wouldn't have to worry about—about money, or about my treatments, or about food."

"That's not worth risking your life for!" Ikat said. Suddenly, he was angry. Ranine couldn't blame him, but that didn't stop him from getting frustrated in return.

"Well now I don't have a choice!"

With that, tears spilled down Ikat's face. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead he just folded him into a hug and held him tight, as if he would be able to keep him there if he just didn't let go.

There were many teary goodbyes before they finally left, and as the door swung shut behind them, Ranine curled up into a ball. He knew his friends would be along soon, but he had to take a moment, he had to do _something_ to avoid slipping into a panic and screaming. If he screamed, the Peacekeepers would come in, and that was the last thing he wanted to see.

The door opened and he sat up. Breden and Chiffon came running to him, wrapping him up in an awkward group hug.

"I can't fucking believe this," Breden said. "I can't—this is the fucking worst, man."

So Ranine had finally found where the humor stopped.

"Guys," he said. "I was going to Volunteer when I was eighteen anyway—it's going to be okay." He was lying, of course. This was the biggest lie he had ever told, but he had to tell it. He wasn't going to leave them, wasn't going to, in all likelihood, die in the Arena, without giving them something to hope for, something to grasp at, while he lived out the last few weeks of his life. If they thought he was going to die, it would destroy them even more than if he accepted his fate aloud.

"I know you're going to," Chiffon said, stroking his hair. If this were any other situation, his heart would be in his throat to have such a closeness with her. Although they were close, and platonic affection was far from rare between the three of them, with his short mortality in mind, everything he felt about Chiffon just seemed heightened. For a moment, he considered telling her, but decided it would be best not to. If he did, it would be that much harder to watch him die.

So instead, he just leaned into his friends, drinking in the last human touch he would ever receive.

As they stood up to leave, Breden seemed to find some of that humor again. "You're a handsome lad, Ranine," he said, putting his hand on his shoulder. "Surely that'll count for something in the Capitol. Maybe you can get sponsors to send you a hovercraft to get you out of the Arena and you'll automatically win."

"Yeah," he said, forcing a smile. "Maybe."

With that, they were gone, and the room was plunged into the heaviest silence Ranine had ever experienced.

A moment later, a Peacekeeper came in and escorted him from the building. He struggled to keep his breathing level, tried his best to resist the downward spiral towards panic. He could panic on the train. He just had to keep it together a little longer.

* * *

 **Viola Batiste**

 **Present day**

Viola paced around the room, doing jeir best to keep calm. Soon, jeir family would be in, or Turner and Dakota. Jee had to keep calm for them.

The door opened and the pair of twins came in.

"Are you okay?" Turner asked immediately.

"I'm fine," jee replied. A lie. Who would be— _could be_ —okay in a situation like this?

Together, they sat down on the couch, though Viola noticed jeir knee bouncing nervously. Jee stopped, but the other one soon started.

"You should pair up with the other kid," he said. "I think you're both gonna need all the help you can get." Dakota nodded his agreement.

"Good idea," Viola said. Jee didn't look at either of them. "Maybe I'll ask him when we get on the train."

"And make sure you pay good attention during the training sessions too," he continued. "You're going to need to know how to survive in the wilderness."

Jee just nodded along, barely listening as he talked strategy. Jee knew all this. Jee had grown up watching the Games, jee knew what things you needed to do in order to have the least chance of surviving—but jee also knew that the mortality rate for kids under sixteen was exceptionally high, so jeir future seemed pretty dismal.

After a little while, Turner finally seemed to catch on that jee wasn't listening. "God, am I rambling again?" It seemed like he was mostly addressing this to Dakota, who nodded.

"Viola, what do you need?" he asked. He was just like that wasn't he. Always taking charge, always being the ringleader, but also always being the parent. He was desperate to make sure everything was fine all the time, to ensure everyone could have fun and that he was a part of that happiness.

"I don't need anything," jee said softly. "There's nothing you can do."

"Well—maybe not, but there's got to be something I can do to make you feel better."

Jee shrugged and shifted jeir weight and jumped up. "Ow!" jee exclaimed, thrusting jeir hand into jeir pocket. Jee found jeir favorite pencil inside.

"You must have left it in there from school," Dakota said.

"I didn't even notice it," jee said quietly.

"Maybe you can take it as a token."

"I think I will." Jee looked at the thing. It was pretty dull, for the most part, since jee tried to avoid sharpening it. Jee had gotten it on jeir birthday a few years ago. It was a constant reminder that good work paid off—though now it seemed to be reminding jem why jee had been picked in the first place.

The girl who had picked jem, Felicity Camlet, had a bone to pick with Viola—though jee had never imagined that it was bad enough that she would pick jem to go into the Hunger Games.

A few months previous, while they were taking tests that would determine whether students would move on to advanced classes, or if they would get fast-tracked to jobs at the factories, Viola had caught Felicity cheating, and had reported her. Jeir "tattletale" attitude had caused many issues with other kids, but since jee had reported her, Felicity's test had been invalidated and she was immediately shipped into the lower lane. Apparently, she was still angry about it.

 _Well,_ jee thought, _hard work got me into this mess. I guess I'll have to hope I can find a way out._

After a while, Dakota and Turner left, and Viola felt jeir heart open up. They were jeir best friends in the world, and jee would probably never see them again. How could jee think about the Hunger Games while having this reality crashing over jem? How could strategies even _begin_ to be important right then, when jee had to say goodbye to everyone and everything jee loved?

The door opened and Viola's family came in: jeir mother, father, grandmother, and older brother Marcus.

They all came and sat around jem, wrapping jem up into an awkward group hug. Jeir grandmother was sobbing, her bent shoulders shuddering with her grief. She was so old and weak, a whole lifetime of burdens laying on her, Viola knew that losing her grandchild, having to watch jem die, would destroy her.

Jee looked over at Marcus, who was stroking jeir hair. He had been so happy these past few weeks. He and Julien had been saving up to buy a house and move away. Although jee had been worried that they would lose touch, jee was happy for him too. He and Julien loved one another more than anything, and their excitement was contagious.

And jeir parents. Jeir father, who had always adored jem, who had been the first person jee had come out to, the person jee always went to first with jeir troubles. Jeir family was as close as close could be, hardship having brought them together, and the thought of having to leave them made jem break down all over again. Jee hated that they would have to watch jem be paraded around in ridiculous clothes, forced to smile and be sociable, forced to fight futilely for jeir continued existence. About the only thing jee could think of that could be as bad as having to be in jeir position, was jeir family having to watch it.

Once the teary "I love you"s and "you're going to be fine"s had been sufficiently repeated, they all seemed to silently agree that it was time for business. Viola forced jemself to listen, despite the fact that jee wanted to think about anything but the Games.

They talked about strategies they had seen work in the past, how to best offer oneself to sponsors as an outer District Tribute. They rammed into jeir head all the different kinds of weapons jee would be able to find, but that defending jemself hopefully wouldn't be needed. It would be a big Arena, almost certainly, so if jee could get supplies, get away, and hide, jee might be able to spend most of the Games out of the way. They also encouraged jem to seek allies wherever allies could be found. There was safety in numbers, but it was best to find people who hopefully wouldn't stab jem while jee was asleep.

Soon, too soon, the Peacekeeper came in and alerted them that it was time to go.

Viola shook jeir head, the tears coming down jeir face. "I don't want to go," jee whispered, not even aware jee was saying it out loud.

"Oh, my child," jeir dad said quietly, crading jem in his arms. "I wish you didn't have to."

The Peacekeeper repeated themself, and slowly, jeir family meandered away. Viola was led out of the Justice Building and to a car, where jee found jeir District Partner already seated inside. Jee played with the hem of jeir shirt, trying to distract jemself from the growing, gnawing panic jee was feeling in jeir chest. Jee honestly couldn't imagine making it to the Capitol. Everything was too overwhelming, everything was too horrible—Viola didn't know what to do to handle it, and jee didn't know if jee would be able to live with all of this bubbling inside of jem.

* * *

 **A/N:** **This was Ranine Montero from** _ **JabbyAbby**_ **and Viola Batiste from** _ **Elim9**_ **! Let me know what y'all think!**

 **Also, as of posting this chapter, I'm working on District Eleven's Reaping! We're almost done!**


	12. The Horse and the Stag

**Sammy Cookson**

 **Eight years ago**

Sammy's heart was pounding. His eyes were glued to the screen as he watched his older brother running through the forest, pressing a hand to the cut on his side as he went.

His hands were balled into fists, shoulder to shoulder with his sister Alexa. Their mother was behind them on the couch, and Sammy could hear her muffled sobs.

"Come on Devon!" Alexa said quietly. She was about to be in tears too, he could hear it in her voice. He was determined to be strong, though. He didn't want to cry, he wanted to be there, to be strong for his sister and mother.

He couldn't help the gasp that escaped his chest as a rock caught on Devon's foot and he went flying forward.

"Ooh! Things are _not_ looking good for Devon Cookson!" one of the commentators said.

The Tribute who was chasing him emerged from the brush as Devon scrambled to his feet and took off. They were given an aerial view of the pursuit.

"No!" their mother cried as the Tribute drew a knife from his waistband and threw it at Devon's back. It hit, and their brother stumbled forward, falling to the ground. The Tribute jumped onto his back, pinning him to the ground.

Grabbing a handful of Devon's hair, he pulled the knife from their brother's back and brought it to his neck. Alexa screamed and their mother covered their eyes with her hands, sobbing.

Sammy didn't open his eyes for ten minutes, but he couldn't drown out the spectator's commentary. There wasn't much, of course. Deaths like that weren't particularly spectacular. What could you say about a kid getting his throat slit?

The Tribute who killed Devon didn't win that year. He was killed in a flood meant to push the final Tributes together. Somewhere, Sammy knew, a family was going through the same pain and anguish his was, but that didn't make him feel any better. He didn't want _anyone_ to suffer like he had suffered, he didn't want any other kid in Panem to have to watch their mother wither away, stripped by grief until there was nothing left but a human-shaped void.

That night, as their mother was tucking them into bed, she whispered to them, "This will never happen to you. Never. I'll stop it somehow. I will."

Even though he was young, Sammy knew better. But he shut that sensible part of himself away and let himself be comforted by his mother's promise. She would protect them, she'd never let them get taken away to the Games.

That was what he told himself every day, even as he watched her withdraw into herself following his brother's death. She did what she could to make sure her kids were taken care of, but she hardly left any energy for herself. As Sammy grew older, he devoted himself to being there for her and his sister. He went to school, he worked as much as he could, did anything possible to make sure there was food on the table at least once a day.

No matter how bad things got though, his mother never let them take tesserae. She said she would rather starve to death than make their chances of getting Reaped any higher. Not wanting to hurt her by betraying that promise, Sammy never did.

* * *

 **Soren Aurasio**

 **Thirteen months ago**

"Barric, don't!" Soren hissed, reaching out for his boyfriend's wrist as he reached out towards the fence.

Barric laughed. "Come on, Soren," he said. "It's not live. Don't worry about it." To prove it, he pulled his hand away and touched the chain-link. Nothing happened, but Soren still felt his heart jump into his throat.

"Barric, please, you know how I feel about that," he said.

He stopped and smiled, wrapping his arms around his waist. "I know, love, I just wanted to show you that there wasn't anything to worry about."

He sighed and leaned into his chest. "I don't want you to get electrocuted."

"I would hope so."

He couldn't help but smile. "Sometimes you're too damn careless."

"I know." He rubbed his back gently. "But you love me anyway, don't you."

He looked up at him. "What kind of a question is that?" he asked. "Of course I love you."

He smiled and kissed him. "I know, but I just like hearing you say it."

Barric pulled away from the hug and continued walking, idly reaching his fingers out and running them across the chain-link.

"Where are we going?" Soren asked after a few minutes of walking in silence.

"I _told_ you, it's a surprise."

"Are we doing something illegal?"

"Soren, if I bothered to only do things that were _legal_ , I'd never do anything."

"Don't avoid the question."

"No, it's not… technically illegal. Although if anyone looked too hard, they might find something illegal."

"What?"

"You'll find out!"

Soren rolled his eyes. "If we get arrested for this, I'm breaking up with you."

"Sure, sure."

They walked along a little longer and a small hill came into view. Sitting there was a blanket.

A smile broke out across his face.

Barric let his hand drop away and jogged ahead, going to a tree and kneeling. He brought out a small basket and stood, going over to the blanket and setting the basket down.

"Happy anniversary," he said.

Sorren sat down and smiled up at his boyfriend. "Let me guess. You got this stuff through less than honest means?"

"I didn't steal it from a shop, if that's what you're asking. I stole it from a Peacekeeper. I figure they can afford to miss a loaf of bread and some cheese. Besides, it's a special occasion."

"You didn't have to do this. I hate it when you take risks like that."

"Oh come on, my dashing and daring is my most attractive feature."

He smiled and leaned up, kissing him briefly. "I don't know if I'd say that."

Barric stuck his tongue out. "Whatever."

He opened the basket and took a loaf of bread out and a wedge of cheese, along with a few slightly mushy grapes.

"A feast for kings," he said with far too much grandiosity.

Soren laughed. "You're ridiculous."

"I know."

They ate, and then, setting the basket aside, Barric laid down and brought Soren close. "You know," he said. "Our lives might suck, but when I'm with you, mine sucks a little less."

Soren rolled his eyes. "My life sucks less with you too," he replied.

Barric leaned over and kissed him. "I'm really glad we met."

"You can thank Tahera for that."

"I don't _need_ to thank her, she thanks herself often enough."

Soren laughed. "She does, doesn't she," he said thoughtfully.

Soren didn't even realize that they had fallen asleep, but by the time he woke up, he knew several hours had passed. When he realized that he had been asleep, he sat up quickly, stirring Barric into wakefulness as well.

"Shit," he muttered. "How long we were asleep for?"

"I don't know," Soren replied. "A few hours maybe?"

"Well, no big deal. Neither of us had to do anything, right?"

"No, but we should get back." He stood up, looking around nervously. He didn't know why he was so anxious. Maybe the shock of waking up from a nap he hadn't intended to take was just lingering. He flicked his hands a few time, trying to shake away the nervousness.

Barric folded the blanket up and put it in the basket before taking his hand. "Let's go, you nervous little thing," he said, kissing his temple.

The walk back to the part of District Nine that they lived in seemed to take longer than the first walk had, though Soren wasn't sure why.

Soon enough, though, they made it back to Sorren's house. "I'll see you later," Barric said, leaning down to kiss him briefly.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Bye."

"You should come spend the night this weekend," he said. "Let someone else cook for you for a change."

He shrugged. "I might," he said. "I'll let you know."

"Bye."

Soren watched as his boyfriend walked away, before going inside.

The house was tiny and falling apart, barely sporting three and a half rooms—the half was supposed to be a bathroom, but Soren rarely even gave it the privilege of calling it that. He and Tahera had bought it a few months ago after years of saving money wherever possible and skipping more than a few meals. They had both been orphans who preferred to find independance themselves than age out of the system.

"Hey Soren," Tahera called from the "kitchen."

"Hi," he replied.

"How was your date?"

"Good."

"What did you guys do?"

He shrugged. "We had a picnic."

"Oh, that's adorable. Are you hungry then?"

"Sort of. It was a few hours ago and we fell asleep. We didn't really have a whole lot to eat anyway. But I'll be fine if we don't have enough."

"Shut up. Of course we have enough."

"You need help?"

"That would be lovely."

He went to her side and took her place at the pot, stirring. This would be the third time that week they would have cabbage soup, but he knew there wasn't much else. At least this time they had some leftover rabbit from an unfortunate critter than had found itself trapped underneath their porch. Tahera had felt guilty about killing it, the poor thing, but there wasn't much other choice—when it came down to it, starving because of a compassion for animals didn't seem all that enticing.

They ate their meager meal, Tahera launching into a lengthy monologue about how much she hated the girl she was stuck working with. Soren nodded his head and listened.

He and Tahera had been closer than close for thirteen years. She joined the orphanage when he was four, and they became fast friends, despite the difference in personalities.

Tahera was a loud-mouthed, outspoken girl, who wasn't afraid to speak her mind to anyone, and she contrasted sharply with Soren's submissive, anxious nature. Soon after they became friends, they started referring to one another as their family—for the two of them, it was the only family they could ever hope to have. Although they didn't share a whole lot of resemblance, Tahera was always ready to chew out anyone who made a comment about how they didn't look like they were related. "Blood doesn't matter," she would always say. "My blood left me behind, so I found my own family."

She had been the one to introduce him to his friends and Barric, who would become his partner. Being as quiet and anxious as he was, Soren was never all that good at making friends, despite always wanting some. Tahera balanced their relationship out in that way as well. She was everything he lacked, and he to her. He didn't know if he believed in soulmates—the hopeless romantic in him did—but if they existed, he knew Tahera was his platonic soulmate. He hoped that he and Barric could get to a point where he could think of him as a romantic soulmate.

* * *

 **Sammy Cookson**

 **Present Day**

The Hunger Games were always a time of mourning for the Cookson family; more so than it was for most other families in Panem. But, just like every other twelve- to eighteen-year-old in the country, Sammy and Alexa had to go to the Square and participate in the Reaping.

Every year, they left their mother's company for the hour period set aside for the Reaping with her words of "You won't have to go in. I'll make sure of it." Every year, it seemed to work: Alexa and Sammy didn't get Reaped.

This was Sammy's last year; after today, he wouldn't ever have to think about being Reaped again. All he would have to do was worry about Alexa, and next year, he wouldn't have to worry about her either. Their family would be freed from the Reapings, free from the fear that haunted them every year.

Despite his mother's words and their apparent effectiveness, he woke up on Reaping Day mornings with a heavy dread in his stomach. He always had nightmares of watching his brother get his throat slit by that Tribute, or having to watch his sister get cut down by some brutish Career, or watching his mother waste away at the thought of having to lose any more of her children to the Hunger Games. As he got older, the nightmares came in less frequency and they didn't force him out of bed crying, the close air of his bedroom seeming to choke him. Now they only came occasionally, but he still looked to Reaping Day with anxiety.

His sister struggled the same way, he knew. Though she may not say it, her body said it plainly enough. Sammy saw the bags underneath her eyes, the quiet, nervous fidget. She tried to hide it, tried to seem like she was alright, but Sammy knew. He had seen the same look in the mirror.

He tried to talk to her about it sometimes, but she always pushed him away, insisting that she was fine. He understood that, too. When one was hurting, it usually seemed only natural to hurt alone.

The morning of his last Reaping, he felt almost like he should be happy. After all, he'd never have to stand in those pens ever again, and by next year, he wouldn't have to fear for his sister's life either. Though the scar left by Devon's death wasn't likely to ever heal, at least they wouldn't be haunted by the possibility of it happening again.

He ran cold water over his face, trying to wash the sleepiness away. He was up earlier than this, most days, for school or work or to take care of his mother, but he hadn't slept well the night before, and his body longed for his overused bed, for just a few more hours of sleep. Unfortunately, they lived in the outskirts of the District, on the plantations where they worked, so their commute to the Square would be a few hours.

As he dressed and left the bathroom, he saw Alexa emerge from the room she shared with their mother, and she went past him into the bathroom.

He went to his mother's room and poked his head inside. "Mom?" he asked.

She was sitting up against the headboard, looking down at her hands, her eyes far away. She didn't respond.

"Mom?" he asked again.

Finally, she looked up. Though she was only forty-six, she looked almost like an old woman by now. Her skin hung loosely off her bones, her eyes were sunken and dull, and her voice was always scratchy. He had noticed the decline prior to their brother's death, after their father passed away from an illness when Sammy was eight. She almost seemed like she would recover, but then Devon got Reaped.

"You want some breakfast?" he asked.

She nodded slightly.

"Okay. Alexa's in the bathroom right now. I'll have her let you know when she's done."

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Although she had always done her best to be there for them, working herself nearly to death in order to scrape together some extra money to fund Sammy's transition, there were some days where it almost seemed like she had ceased to exist as a human, just going through the motions. Sammy did his best to help her through those tough days, to be there for his family since she struggled to do so.

He went to the kitchen and took out some of the leftover bread they had made the previous weekend and two eggs. One would think, living in the "breadbasket of Panem," flour and bread would be cheap, but he supposed that since they were responsible for the export of something like ninety percent of the country's wheat, maize, rice and oats, there wasn't a whole lot left over for the starving citizens who were responsible for harvesting the shit.

As he cooked the eggs, Alexa emerged from the bathroom. "Go tell mom you're done," he said over his shoulder to her.

She nodded and went to the bedroom.

He shuffled the eggs onto plates and cut the bread, putting it on the table as Alexa sat down.

His mother came out of the bathroom soon and they all ate.

As the morning wore on, they prepared to leave for the square. The bus that took them was beaten down and seemed like it was ready to fall apart at any moment, but it was the only option other than walking.

At the square, their mother hugged them and whispered, "It'll be okay, I promise" and they went to the growing line.

He stood in the pens staring off into space, waiting for the ceremony to begin. He didn't have any close friends that he could talk to, so all he had was his own thoughts.

Eventually, the anthem stopped and the mayor read the Treaty of Treason. The Escort came to the microphone and started his usual speech in a desperate attempt to get the energy up. Honestly, why did they ever bother with trying to make it seem like a special occasion. No one in the outer Districts enjoyed Reapings.

"We'll start with the ladies," the Escort said as he crossed the stage.

Unlike most Escorts, Rarity Caesar didn't take part in the overly showy tradition of digging his hand around in the bowl for obscene amounts of time. He just grabbed the first one he could get his fingers around and went back to the microphone. Maybe this was his way of being different, Sammy didn't know.

"Orban Montressor!" he called. A panicked squeak emanated from the section next to Sammy's. A girl with crutches emerged, going painstakingly to the stage.

"Do you have a name for the person to replace you?" Rarity asked.

She swallowed hard and looked into the crowd for a few moments, as if searching for a face to put to a name. There was no way she would be able to see anyone in the seventeen-year-old's section, all the way at the back of the square. Maybe she was just buying time. After a moment, she croaked out, "Soren—Soren Arausio."

"No!"

The mass of seventeen-year-olds shuddered and shifted, and the Peacekeepers sprung into action. They pushed through the crowd. Sammy stood on his toes to see. Despite the fact that he was rather tall, most of the other kids were taller, and blocked his view.

There was a commotion, some muffled shouts, and a loud cry, before the Peacekeepers emerged with a kid in tow.

Two kids followed after, getting only as far as the fences would allow them. One of them was reaching out to the Tribute, who was crying and shaking but otherwise silent. He called the Tribute's name.

Another kid, a few sections down—Sammy couldn't see them, but he could hear them just fine.

"Soren!" they shouted. "Don't! No! You can't take him!"

"Tahera!" Soren shouted back. Sammy swallowed hard. He remembered that desperation, that pain, that terror. He remembered it all too well from eight years ago when Devon was Reaped. He knew the horror these kids underwent, how his friends and family must be feeling then. He shut his eyes and clenched his hands into fists, trying to push the painful lump back down his throat where it belonged.

He let out a shallow breath as Rarity transitioned, as if he hadn't just watched a kid get torn away from his loved ones. His chirpy voice seemed even more unbearable now. He just wanted this to be over, so he could go home with his family and try to forget everything while he could.

"Now for the gentlemen's bowl!"

Sammy wondered what went through the minds of the people who were chosen but not Reaped. How did you choose the person who was going into the Games instead of you? How _could_ you choose? He couldn't imagine wishing that fate on his worst enemy. Did these people pick the names out of their memories, those for whom the name and the face didn't have any emotional meaning? A primary school classmate, the butcher's child, a friend of your friend's cousin, only mentioned once—who were these kids to the chosen?

With this Quell, every other kid had the potential to be the one to pick you. You were that person to everyone else. Having to cope with that survivor's guilt—Sammy couldn't imagine. Maybe that was the point of the Quell. After all, part of their "appeal" was their unique cruelty, a reminder from the past that they were never safe. Those who came before them, before their parents, before even the seemingly constant and everlasting president Oak, had invented new and exciting ways to torture the Districts, to use the bodies and the lives of children for the Capitol's enjoyment, and the Districts' control.

Sammy was snapped out of his thoughts as he saw the chosen kid shuffle up onto the stage. With a sense of horror, Sammy realized that he was his age. He stared at his face, almost unrecognizable from the distance, wondered if he knew him, if he was a target—did the chosen even have to say a name? Or could they just point? That had been a topic of discussion and debate since the Quell was announced, though Sammy didn't know if anyone was brave enough to try.

He watched the kid as he leaned down towards the microphone. Slowly and quietly, he said, "Sammy Cookson." The way he said it was weird, too—almost like a question, like _he_ wasn't even sure what was going to come out of his mouth.

After a moment, Sammy realized that that was _his_ name, the name he had picked out six years ago when he realized he had been a boy all along.

 _This can't be happening,_ he thought to himself, looking around in panic. He heard a loud sob from the spectator's section—his mother, surely. This _couldn't_ be real, his mother had said that he wouldn't be Reaped, that he and Alexa would _never_ have to go into the Hunger Games. So how was it that this kid whose name Sammy didn't even know had called him up to the stage?

 _It must be a dream,_ was the explanation he gave himself. That excuse wouldn't hold water, of course, not after he started thinking again. But right then, all he could feel was a heavy terror, and about the only thing he could do to avoid having a panic attack was lock himself away behind a wall of denial. So, for the moment, this was a dream, a nightmare, like the ones he had had so many times. In a few minutes he would wake up in bed, and he would be fine, and what was left of his family would stay whole. The Capitol wasn't going to take anyone else away. That was what his mom always said.

So he stared unseeingly into the crowd as he mounted the stage and was forced to shake Soren's trembling hand, and he walked mechanically towards the Justice Building with the Peacekeepers keeping a close eye on the both of them.

Only after the door shut behind him in the goodbye room did reality finally seem to sink in and he started screaming.

What else could he do but scream? How was there any other way to vent this horror than to revert to their ancestry, their basic roots in the jungles he had been told once existed, screaming in pain and anguish and fear. Who was he screaming to? The primate inside of him didn't know, didn't even know if it mattered. Was a who necessary?

After a moment, the door opened and the screaming stopped. He turned and it was his mom and his sister. He knew that, chances were, they would be the only ones to come to see him. He didn't have many close friends. He was too busy working and taking care of his family to form close ties, though he was sure a few of the acquaintances he had would come, overwhelmed by sentimentality and pity.

He opened his arms and his mom and sister came to him, and they were all sobbing.

Though there was a lot that could have been said, no one spoke. Even after they had made their way over to the seating area, they were silent.

Sammy wished he could turn his thoughts off, but he couldn't stop thinking about all the other people that had sat in this room. He wondered if this was the same one his brother had been in. It had been eight years ago, and trauma had blocked many of the details out. He wondered how many goodbyes had been shared in this room, how many tears shed, how many people whose lives ended with this room. How many ghosts did these walls keep?

When the hour was nearly up, the Peacekeeper came in and said that there were two other people coming to see him. Sammy looked up. He didn't want to have to let his family go for people he barely even knew. But he figured that whoever it was probably wanted closure of some kind.

So, he stood up and hugged his mother and sister again. "I'll be okay," he promised them. He cupped his mother's cheek. "You need to be strong until I get back. I know it's hard. But you have to take care of Alexa." He knew, deep down, that she would probably have to take care of her for a lot longer than a few weeks.

Alexa looked down at her wrist, at a bracelet she had made a few years ago, and took it off. She held it out to him. "Here," she said. "I want this back, you hear?"

He nodded slightly. "Yeah," he said softly. "I'll make sure you get it back."

It took two more minutes to convince his mom to leave, but after they had gone, two kids that Sammy had worked with in the fields, Carter and Jason, came in. They weren't _friends_ , necessarily, but they were about as close to it as Sammy had.

"Hey," Carter said. "I'm really sorry about this shit. It sucks."

Sammy, knowing that his eyes were still red and puffy from crying, just shrugged and tried to keep his eyes down. "Yeah," was all he said.

"Really, we mean it," Jason chimed in. "I know we aren't like, super close man, but we didn't want you to feel alone or anything. We know you have your family, but they're not the only one's you're important to, you know?"

Sammy knew that was supposed to make him feel better, somehow, make him feel like he was loved, or whatever, but that just made him feel worse about leaving it all behind.

"Yeah," he said after a moment. "Thanks, guys."

"You know what I think?" Carter asked.

"What's that?"

"I think if you tried, you could join the Career pack."

Sammy turned and looked at them. "Why the fuck would I want to do _that_?" he demanded.

Carter put his hands out in surrender. "Hey, man, I didn't mean anything bad by it. I'm just saying, it would be a good advantage, even if you only did it for a little while and then ran off. You know?"

"Yeah. I guess."

Soon the hour was up and the Peacekeeper came back in to bring him to the car. As he left the Justice Building, he couldn't stop looking over his shoulder, even as he tripped on a curb. This was his District, his _home_. How could they ask him to leave it all behind?

* * *

 **Soren Arausio**

 **Present Day**

Soren didn't know how he had managed to make it to the goodbye room on both feet. He went over to the couch and sat, clasping his hands together to try and get the shaking to stop. "Pull it together Soren," he whispered. "Don't—don't freak out. Don't freak out."

The door opened and Tahera came in, her eyes full of tears. "This is fucking bullshit!" was the first thing she said. "You can't—they can't take you, Soren. They just can't."

"Why not? What's stopping them?"

"I don't know—it's just not fair. It should be someone else—anyone else. I should have fucking Volunteered. God, Soren." Her voice broke and she ran to him, hugging him tightly. "This isn't fair, it's not fair, it's not fair."

"I know," was all he could think to say.

Despite the fact that she was sobbing into his shoulder, Soren wasn't crying. He didn't feel calm, by any means, and he was decently sure he was having a panic attack, but the usual sobs and tears that accompanied one hadn't arrived yet.

After a moment, Tahera pulled away and looked piercingly at him. "I want you to fucking win, Soren," she said quietly, almost accusingly. "I don't care what the odds are, I don't care what anyone else thinks you can or can't do. I want you to win—I _know_ you're going to win."

"Tahera..."

"No! Say it with me: I, Soren Arausio, am going to win the Hunger Games."

After a moment, he reluctantly repeated her.

"I'm going to win, and I'm going to come back, and I'm going to move into the Victor's village with Tahera and Barric."

Again, he mimicked her.

"And I'm going to marry Barric, because he's the love of my life and he's going to be waiting for me to get back."

Soren's heart broke at the thought of Barric, of dying and him having to watch.

The other shoe dropped and Soren burst out sobbing.

"Shit," Tahera muttered. She reached out a hand and patted his shoulder gently. "It's okay," she said. "It's going to be okay, I promise."

He shook his head.

She sighed and cradled his head. She stroked his hair gently and kept trying to assure him that everything would be okay. Her anger melted away and there was only love, the love of a sister having to say goodbye to the only family she had ever had.

Soon, too soon, Soren had to say goodbye to his sister.

He took a moment to prepare himself for the next group, the next round of goodbyes. He figured it would be his friends, Cerywin and Otillie, and he was right.

They came in and Soren could immediately tell that they were trying to be strong so it didn't hurt him. They refused to cry, and whenever either of them got close to it, they would turn their heads away so he couldn't see it. It was a noble effort, and he appreciated the thought, but it was a crummy attempt to hide what he knew was happening. With every passing moment he felt his doom get closer and closer, he felt as though Death were looming over him, just waiting for the absolute worst moment to strike and take him away from everything.

Otille and Cerwyn tried to be encouraging, tried to distract him from the reality. It didn't work and they knew it, but they tried anyway.

Eventually, they stood up, hugged him for one last time, promised that they'd see him on the other side, and left. Soren knew they meant on the other side of the Games, as if that would cement his victory, but he knew that he wasn't going to see his friends until they too joined him in whatever afterlife might be in store.

Finally, last of all, came Barric. He had tears running down his face and Soren was amazed that he had kept himself from coming first and taking the whole hour all to himself.

They ran to one another and embraced. Barric pressed his face into Soren's hair, and his sobs shook the both of them. He was a lot bigger than Soren was, so much so that he could almost carry him if he really wanted to. He led him over to the couch and sat down heavily, as if his legs couldn't hold him up anymore.

"Barric I'm so sorry," he sobbed, leaning into his boyfriend's chest.

He stroked his head and back. "What are you sorry for, love?" he asked.

It was a dialogue Soren was familiar enough with. He had a bad habit of apologizing for everything that went wrong, even if it had nothing to do with him. Barric always asked "Why are you sorry?" Soren figured that it was his attempt to make Soren see just how ridiculous he was being by apologizing all the time. That didn't change anything, though. He always apologized, and Barric always asked the same question.

"Because I got picked—because I have to leave you," he sobbed.

"You're not leaving me for more than a few weeks, love. I'll see you soon enough." He pulled him away from his chest and tipped his chin up with his hand. "But I know those weeks will feel like eternity."

Soren couldn't stand to look him in the eye for more than a few moments. He shut his eyes and pulled away, burying his face back into his boyfriend's chest. He felt Barric kiss the top of his head and let his lips rest there.

"It'll be okay," he whispered to his scalp. "I know it will."

He wondered who he was saying that to: himself, or Soren.

Soon, it was time for him to leave, and Soren felt his panic attack resume.

He kept a tight hold on Barric's hand, shaking his head and begging the Peacekeeper not to take him.

Barric took something out of his pocket and extended it to him. "Here," he said. "I want you to bring this. I was going to give it to you after the Reaping, to celebrate. But I figure it'll be better like this. For good luck."

Soren looked down at it. It was a bracelet, and he could see in it Barric's clumsy attempts at arts and crafts, and Soren felt his eyes fill again. He held on tighter to Barric as he took it.

"Don't go," he begged.

After a moment, seeing the Peacekeepers advance to pull them apart, his boyfriend pulled him close and looked into his eyes. "Go with them, love," he whispered. "It'll be okay. I'll see you soon." He kissed him briefly. "I love you more than words could ever express."

"I love you too," Soren choked out.

Barric forced his hands away and left, wiping his eyes with his hands.

Soren reluctantly followed the Peacekeepers out of the Justice Building. He saw his District Partner, whose name he had forgotten, walking a few paces ahead of him. He looked almost like he was waking up out of a dream. Soren wondered why as they were shoved into the back of a black car.

* * *

 **A/N: So! This was Sammy Cookson from Luke aka** _ **bludmann**_ **(?) aka dad and Soren Aurasio from** _ **JabbyAbby**_ **! I hope y'all enjoyed!**

 **Also, I'm writing the District Thirteen Reapings tonight which means** _ **I'll be done with Reapings holy shit I'm so excited I hate this**_ **. So once we get through those, we'll be onto Train Rides and then the Capitol chapters! :D**


	13. The Ram and the Wolf

**Ari Musada**

 **Six months ago**

"What are you even _talking_ about?" Ari demanded.

"I _know_ you're sleeping with Damian, Ari, don't try and deny it."

"Marianne, I don't know how many times I have to _tell_ you this, but I'm _gay_. I have no interest in fucking _any_ dudes, let alone your gross boyfriend."

Marianne's eyes filled with rage. " _Excuse me_?" she demanded.

Ari cast a glance around the crowd of students who had gathered to watch the fight they knew would break out. Few people got out of a confrontation like this with Ari without a bloody nose or a bruised lip.

"I _said_ ," she continued, "that I don't want to fuck any dudes, especially not your gross boyfriend."

With a shout she threw herself towards Ari, looking to grab hold of her hair — why did they always go for the hair?

Ari was taller, though, so she had more wingspan. She shoved Marianne backwards hard, but she got a hold of her blouse sleeve and all but ripped it off.

"Fuck— bitch, this is a _nice_ _shirt_!"

"I don't give a shit! Take it back then!"

Ari rolled her eyes. "You really want to do this?"

"If you won't take it back, then yes!"

She sighed. "If you insist," she said, shrugging.

Again, Marianne came at her, and the kids around them started shouting and cheering them on.

Ari wasn't a good fighter, and she certainly didn't have any training, but she was strong thanks to working on the ranch with her family, and she had gotten in more than enough fights in her years.

It was pretty obvious Marianne didn't have those advantages. Ari stepped to the side and punched her in the jaw and then continued to circle her. Her slow reflexes made it easy to avoid coming into the center of her vision, and Ari shoved her in the back hard as she hooked Marianne's foot with her own, and she came tumbling down.

"Alright, what is the meaning of this?"

Instinctually, Ari stepped back, looking towards the source of the voice. It was the principal's, and he was shoving his way through the crowd of quickly-dispersing students.

Once he saw Ari, he sighed in disappointment. "Ms. Masuda, my office, now."

"She started it, Mr. Banner," she replied. "She's spreading rumors about me."

"Now, Ms. Masuda."

Sighing, Ari went down to the offices and sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair waiting for him.

As he came in and sat down at his desk, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ms. Masuda, this is the second fight this month. You _know_ you can't continue like this."

She shrugged. "She was spreading rumors about me," she replied.

"And what rumors would those be?"

"That I was having sex with her boyfriend."

He raised his eyebrows. Despite the fact that he had been a principal for upwards of ten years, Ari didn't think he was particularly good at interacting with kids.

"That's no excuse to get into a fight," he said finally.

"I didn't start the fight," she replied. "I didn't even _want_ to. She threw the punch at me, I was defending myself."

He frowned. "You should have gone and gotten an adult."

"Well I didn't have the opportunity."

"Ms. Masuda, if you get into another fight, I'm going to have to call your parents in for a conference."

"Alright, Mr. Banner," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'll do my best."

He sighed. "You might need to do more than your best."

She stood up. "Bye."

She left the office and then the school, making her way home.

When she got there, she found it mostly empty, but upon leaving out into the backyard, where most of the animals were kept, she saw her brother Jack lifting bales of hay.

"Hey!" she called, coming over to him. Of everyone in her family, Jack was the one she was closest with, though she didn't necessarily _not_ get along with the rest of her family. It just seemed like the two of them got along better.

He turned and looked at her, smiling. "Hey bud," he said. "How was school?"

"Shitty. I got into a fight with this bitch."

"What for?" he asked, frowning and leaning against the pile of hay bales.

"She thinks I'm fucking her boyfriend."

He laughed.

"Right?"

"Well, you'd better stop getting in trouble, otherwise mom and dad are going to have to get involved."

She sighed. "Yeah. But it's not my fault everyone wants to fight with me."

He grinned. "But it _is_ your fault you indulge them."

She laughed. "Where are the parents?" she asked then.

"Mom's in the chicken coop, dad's skinning something, I think."

"You think they need any help?"

"No, probably not."

"I'll stay here with you then."

* * *

 **Denver Teikell**

 **Six months ago**

As Denver walked away from the circle of students, he sighed. The fight had been a welcome diversion, but there wasn't anything to stop him from having to go home that day. He had failed a test, and he had to show his parents what the results were. He didn't want to see his parents' cold eyes flick over all the incorrect answers, and then they would say in that flat monotone, "You can do better." That would be the end of it. They almost never chastised him for his failing grades, almost never told him that he was a disappointing son— he almost wished they would though. At least that would show that they cared enough to be angry.

It was only one test, he kept telling himself, it wouldn't even affect his overall grade that much. But for him, and for his parents, that didn't matter; only the best made it in this world. For his parents, if it weren't the best, if wasn't worth thinking about, which was why his parents barely paid attention to him.

He went home and found his mom, showing her the test scores.

"Oh," she said, seeing the grade. "I know you can do better, Denver. This isn't acceptable."

He wished that there was any amount of emotion in her voice when she said that, but there was nothing, like she was a robot. It made him feel like his stomach was curling up and dying inside of him.

"I know," he said quietly, forcing himself to adopt the same cold tone as she had. "I'll do better."

He went away from her then, clenching his hands into fists in an attempt to stifle the tears threatening to spill over his eyes.

He put the test in his room and then left the house quickly, heading towards Marcellus' house. He knew that he and Rory would probably be hanging out. He needed them at the moment, needed something to distract him.

He knocked on the door and Rory opened it. "Hey," he said. "Come in man."

Denver went in and saw Marcellus on the couch.

"What's up Denver?" he asked, waving.

He shrugged. "Well."

"You okay?" he asked.

"I failed a test."

"Oh, man." He stood up. "You okay?"

He shrugged again. "I had to show my mom."

"Oh." He nodded slightly. "I'm sorry, man. That's really rough."

He sat down on the couch heavily beside him, leaning his head back. "It is," he murmured.

"It'll be okay, though."

Rory approached and Denver opened his eyes. He had a handful of cards and was holding it out to him. Rory was an aspiring magician, so a lot of the time he and Marcellus were his guinea pigs.

"Pick a card, any card," he said theatrically, smiling widely at him.

Denver sighed affectionately and pulled one out: a king of hearts.

Rory shuffled the deck and then split it, extending a half of the deck to him. Denver put his card on top of the others and watched as they were shuffled again. Shutting his eyes and tipping his head back, he pulled out a random card and showed it to him.

"Is this your card?" he asked. It was a three of spades.

"Mm, no," Denver said, smiling slightly.

"Well, at least I tried."

Denver knew he purposely messed up to make him smile; it was one of those things he did, but he didn't care. It was nice to know that his friends were there for him, at least, when no one else would be; they always encouraged him and made him feel like he _was_ good enough, that he wasn't just a disappointing average. It made him feel worthwhile, like he had an effect in other people's lives.

Rory glanced at Marcellus, as if they were exchanging some kind of silent conversation.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Rory said automatically. He smiled. "There's just— we've got a surprise for you, is all."

Denver frowned, though his heart soared. "A surprise? What for?"

"Well, today is the fourth anniversary of the day we became friends!" Marcellus said.

He grinned. "You guys are the dumbest people I've ever met," he said.

They had never really _celebrated_ their "anniversary" before, especially since it seemed kind of cheesy and stupid, but with the mood he was in, Denver welcomed the cheesiness with all the energy he had left.

"So what are we supposed to do for this?"

"Well, we got some food and stuff, and we figured we could just hang out, and since it's Friday, I told my mom that I was gonna have the two of you over."

"You know? I think that's just what I need."

Although Denver's life seemed like a constant state of sadness and angst, whenever his friends got involved, they always lifted some of that pressure off of him. They were the validating light he needed, and about the only people in the world he felt comfortable enough with to lift the facade he had developed over the years in order to cope with the neglect he felt at home. They encouraged him, they made sure he cared about himself when he needed to, and when he couldn't muster up the strength, they cared about him enough to compensate.

* * *

 **Denver Teikell**

 **Present Day**

Denver rushed through getting ready, and barely ate his meager breakfast before setting out for the square. His parents were going to meet him there, as they had left earlier that morning to run some errands. It was lonely and strangely cold until he got to Marcellus' house. The two of them walked together the rest of the way, and Marcellus, forever the joker in the group, did a good job of cheering Denver up. He knew Marcellus was just as anxious about the day as he was, as every Reaping aged person in the District was, but, like Denver, he had learned to throw up a facade to hide his vulnerabilities. He saw straight through it, but appreciated the humor all the same. _Anything_ to distract him from the impending doom and gloom the next few weeks would undoubtedly bring.

As they reached the square, Denver looked around for his parents, and saw them standing in the crowd of spectators. He told Marcellus he would catch up to him in a minute and went over to them.

"Good luck," his father said, resting a hand on his shoulder.

Denver felt his shoulders sink as he went over to the line, jogging slightly so he wouldn't have to stand alone because Marcellus was further in the line than he was.

"You ready for this?" he asked.

He shrugged. "Who ever is?" he asked.

"Fair enough," he said. "But hey, at least if your name gets called you don't have to go in."

"But statistically, there are more people I know who might pick me than my name is in that ball, so my odds are technically worse this year."

"Come on, District Ten is one of the biggest Districts in the country. What are the odds of the Escort picking someone you know?"

"Too high for comfort," he said, looking up at the stage. Rory joined them soon, and they exchanged a few words before falling silent. There was something about Reaping Days that made conversation impossible.

The anthem droned on for a few more minutes before it slowly faded out, and the Mayor took the stage. She was probably the shortest person Denver had ever seen, and she needed a step stool just to reach the microphone. He couldn't help but think that that had to be humiliating.

She gave the long speech that was customary to the beginning of Reapings, and, as usual, the District collectively dozed off for ten minutes. He wondered if the Capitol realized that they had to hear the Treaty of Treason every year in school, as well as at the beginning of every Reaping, so most of the kids fifteen and older could probably recite it by heart if they needed to. The ceremonial reading wasn't all that necessary. Everyone had the history of Panem drilled into their heads from childhood, and they weren't likely to forget it. The Games themselves always served as a bloody reminder. He supposed it was just an attempt at cementing the propaganda in all of their psyches.

As the Mayor finished her reading, she introduced the Escort: a tall person made even taller by ridiculous-looking high-heeled boots that looked like they were made of plastic or vinyl, with frilled shorts — it wasn't really the season for shorts anymore — and a crop top covered in sequins. This was only the most recent in xeir long line of ridiculous outfits. It seemed like every year xey wanted to outdo xemself even more. Eventually xey would just show up naked, in order to bring new shock and awe to the Reapings.

As xey took the microphone, xey introduced xemself — after a lengthy and flowery thanks to the Mayor for her "riveting" reading of the Treaty of Treason — as Mandarious Septim, the third. Denver rolled his eyes. As far as he understood it, xey had chosen that name, so unless xey had decided to change it to one of xeir parents' names, xey wasn't _actually_ the third in the line.

"How is everyone on this fine morn?" xey asked. _Another_ thing that bothered Denver about District Ten's escort — as if there was anything about xem that _didn't_ bother him — was that xey had this ridiculous habit of using what was often referred to as "pre-Panem Old English," something that only the most annoying of history buffs had even heard of. Evidently Mandarious was a history buff in xeir spare time.

After receiving absolute silence in response, xey sniffed. "Well, you all must be tired, despite the late hour. Let's get this party started, shall we?"

Xey tottered over to the boy's bowl and almost had to double over to reach xeir hand inside. Xey rummaged around for a moment, being sure to send a winning smile to the cameras, before pulling it out. Xey returned to the microphone and announced, "Darren Aven!"

A guy Denver's age pushed past them out into the isle. He glanced at Marcellus as anxiety grabbed hold of his stomach. Everything would have been fine if someone who _wasn't_ in their age group had been picked, then he would have been able to breathe easy.

He held his breath, though, watching as the kid's eyes swept over the fourteen-year-old's section, as everyone collectively tried to fade into the background.

"Do you have a name?" Mandarious asked.

He nodded and then, tentatively, said into the microphone, "Denver Teikell."

Denver felt his whole body freeze up, and it took him a minute to process what had just happened. How could this kid have said his name? He didn't even know him, the name "Darren Aven" meant nothing to him. What could he have done to deserve this? What had he done to Darren Aven that would have made him hate him so much that he would choose him?

After a moment, he knew the Peacekeepers were going to come and drag him up to the stage, and there was no way he was going to let that happen. Clenching his hands into fists, he walked past the shocked Marcellus and Rory, and mounted the steps to the stage. He watched as Darren went back to the safety and anonymity of the crowd of teenagers, leaving Denver up on that stage alone, exposed, doomed. He knew his eyes betrayed how angry he was at this kid he didn't know but somehow knew him.

"Do we have any Volunteers?" Mandarious asked. Futilely, Denver prayed that someone would Volunteer for him, so long as it wasn't Marcellus or Rory. He knew they wouldn't though. It was something they had all decided when they had turned twelve: if someone gets Reaped, we don't Volunteer for them. The only thing worse than having to watch your best friend die was having to watch them knowing it should be you.

He watched, without blinking or even breathing, as Mandarious went to the girl's bowl. "Davey Smith!"

A girl peeled out from the sixteen-year-old's section, walking with determination. He could tell she knew who she was sending in, and a wave of nausea washed over him. How could anyone seem so _pleased_ to have this burden set on them? How could anyone look out into a crowd of their peers and happily choose someone to go into the Arena, when they were almost certainly going to die? Suddenly, Denver recognized her. She was a friend of the girl who had been in a fight a few months ago. That day stuck in his memory thanks to Marcellus and Rory, and he knew of the girl because she went to the same school as him.

"Do you have a name, Ms. Smith?" Mandarious asked. Xey knew as well as everyone by the look in her eyes that she did.

"I do. Ari Masuda."

Denver recognized that name too. Most of the people in their small school knew who she was, as she was one of those people who was always getting into arguments and sometimes fights. She was just headstrong, and a lot of people gave her shit for some reason. He never knew her, but now he supposed he might get to know her. They were going into the Hunger Games together after all. He couldn't help a swell of pity rise up as he watched Ari separate herself from the crowd and walk up to the stage. She didn't look all that upset; if anything, she looked like she had been expecting it. She probably had been, honestly, when Davey was called.

"Any Volunteers?"

Silence. Another wave of pity swept him up, and he glanced over at Ari.

When no one Volunteered, Mandarious had Denver and Ari shake hands, and they were presented to the cameras. They had to watch as they ate their faces up, stared at them long enough so that everyone else in Panem could commit their faces to memory. He knew that somewhere in the Capitol, the District Ten designers were already taking down sketches of color palettes and makeup designs that would suit them "best," so they could be paraded around like prize animals.

As they were led off the stage, Denver realized he was definitely going to throw up, but he hoped he could keep it in at least until they could get inside.

The doors had barely shut behind them before he turned to the side and barfed on Mandarious' ridiculous boots, causing xem to squeal.

"Shit," he muttered. "Sorry." He didn't _really_ mean it, but it was an instinctive reaction. He was led into the goodbye room, but not given any water or anything, so he was stuck with the taste of vomit in his mouth. He kept spitting on the floor behind the couch, running his tongue across his jacket sleeve, doing anything to make it go away.

He sighed and leaned back, preparing himself for the gut-wrenching goodbyes. He wondered what his parents were going to do, and thinking about it filled him with dread. At least he had thrown up what was left of his breakfast, so he wouldn't do it again.

Soon, they came in, and they had more emotion than he had ever seen on them.

It wasn't like his parents didn't love him, it was mostly that they just didn't know how to express it in a way that Denver would receive it, and he never felt comfortable enough to get across to them that blank looks of disappointment and encouragement to do better weren't all that comforting when he was struggling. It was a whole vicious, toxic cycle that they could never break out of, and now it was too late because, chances were, he was going to die in the next few weeks in the worst way possible.

He probably wouldn't even survive the Bloodbath, and if he did, he'd probably end up starving to death or being ripped apart by some horrible monster of the Gamemakers' design.

Denver stood up and went to them, though no one spoke yet. They had a half an hour to pass, since he knew that the only other people coming to see him would be Marcellus and Rory.

He didn't know if he could handle being alone with his parents for that long. Immediately he felt guilty for that though; they were his _parents_ , and he was likely never going to see them again. How could he be so selfish?

"Denver, you're a good boy," his father began. "You're a good boy. You're going to do your best, won't you?"

He nodded. What else could he do? It was life or death.

"You're going to be good. You're going to be the best," his mother added. He noticed her voice wavering and he felt his heart crack. He didn't know what was worse, that the only time they ever seemed willing to show any emotion at all was when he was facing imminent doom, or that hearing his mother's voice so sad made him want to curl up into nothingness and disappear so he didn't have to face the next half hour.

"I'm gonna do my best. I'm gonna try and come back." He would, too. He knew that his chances were slim, that a winner from District Ten only cropped up every thirty years or so, but he couldn't imagine leaving his best friends behind, or his parents. As little as he got along with them, they were still his family, and they hadn't done enough to make him stop caring about them or to make him want to come back only for his friends.

The half hour passed on painfully, and as his parents were about to leave, they caught him up in a hug. "We love you, Denver," his dad whispered. "More than anything. I know we aren't very good at showing it all the time but we really do care about you a lot. We want you to come back."

He nodded, not speaking for a moment as he tried to contain the rush of emotion that wanted to force its way out of his throat. "I will," he finally whispered, not trusting his voice to go any louder.

As they left, Denver let out a shuddering breath and returned to the couch. If _that_ was hard, he couldn't imagine what it would be like to say goodbye to his friends, the only two people in the world he ever felt truly comfortable with, who could dismantle the mask he always wore.

As Marcellus and Rory came in, there was solemn silence. Even Marcellus couldn't think of anything to say to lighten the mood. Instead they just came over and sat on the couch with him.

"I'm really sorry this is happening to you," Rory said after a moment.

Denver suppressed a burst of anger. Of course he was sorry— who wouldn't be? He wasn't angry at Rory, of course, he could never be angry at Rory. He was just angry at the world, angry that nothing ever seemed to go right for him, that he couldn't just be _happy_ and live his life. _Of course_ he had to go into the Hunger Games, because he wasn't good enough to keep going on, he wasn't _allowed_ to continue living his mediocre life.

He didn't voice his frustrations, though. Instead he just nodded, thanked him, and allowed himself to be wrapped up in a hug.

"You're gonna do good," Rory said. "I know it. You just have to… I dunno, get some allies, hone some skills. Play it smart. You can probably run mental circles around the Careers, and so long as you stay out of people's way, you'll only have to worry about eating and drinking and mutts."

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Only."

They did their best to talk about strategy most of the time, trying to distract themselves from the impending goodbye they would have to face before he was taken off to the train to leave the District.

Finally, however, they couldn't avoid it any longer.

With a deep breath, Marcellus pulled away from the hug. "Well, it's almost time to go," he said quietly. "I— listen, Denver. You're the best friend either of us could ask for. We just hope you make it out. And if you don't— well… I don't—" His voice cracked. "I don't really want to think about having to move on without you." He took a breath as he tried to regain control. "So just— don't die, you know man? Because you know how hard it is for me to think."

It was a joke, a pitiful attempt at a joke, but it did nothing to lift the mood. Denver figured it would be impossible, but he nodded and forced a smile anyway, even as his eyes filled with tears— for their sake. "Alright, I'll do my best to save you the trouble."

With one more hug, the two of them left, and the Peacekeeper told him it was time to leave. He swallowed hard, still trying to force away the taste of vomit, and followed him out of the Justice Building. As he looked over his shoulder at the retreating building, he reached into the pocket of his trousers and brought out a small gemstone. It wasn't anything valuable, just a shiny rock he and his friends had found one day. In it was carved their initials: MRD. He bit hard on his lip as his thumb traced the etchings, trying to fight the tears away. After a moment, he shoved it back in his pocket.

* * *

 **Ari Masuda**

 **Present day**

"This isn't real, this isn't real," Ari said to herself. She curled up into a ball, squeezing herself as hard as she could, trying to solidify _something_ because it just felt like she was about to fade away, like she was going to dissolve into dust. She felt herself heave, something between a sob and a gag, and she thought of her District partner throwing up on their Escort's shoes. That gave her a little bit of satisfaction, at least, but it didn't do anything about the fact that she was going into the fucking _Hunger Games_ , and there was nothing she could do about it. It didn't change the fact that she was doomed.

She wasn't surprised that Davey had picked her, of _course_ the little brat did. The fight she had had with Marianne was still fresh enough to breed hatred, but that didn't make it any less horrible. She could have been picked at random, by someone she didn't even know, and she would still want to scream until the walls fell down.

The doors opened and her mother and father rushed in, Jack close behind them.

Her mother seemed to be hyperventilating, tears falling silently down her cheeks, but her father was biting the bottom of his lip. He must have felt like he had to be strong for everyone. Ari wished he didn't feel that way. She was leaving them, probably forever, he should be _allowed_ to feel horrible, and to let that emotion out.

She let them hug her, even though in her state the thought of being so tightly confined made her feel like she was already dead and in her coffin, like her life was already over and her parents were hugging a corpse. At the same time, though, she couldn't bare the thought of having to leave her parents without drinking in as much of their presence, their touch, as physically possible.

She let out a shuddering breath, not looking at anyone's face. She knew if she saw them, the pity, the grief, the anguish, she would fall apart. She didn't want to know how much her death would hurt them, though there was no way for her to avoid it. She was going to die, and her family was going to grieve for her; that was the _point_ of the Games. It was a shadow looming over them all, to terrify them into obedience.

For a long time, no one spoke, and the only sound that pervaded the silence was her mother's' quiet whimpers.

Finally, Jack whispered, "Promise me you won't give up, Ari."

A painful lump formed in her throat, and it felt like it would choke her. "I promise," she managed to get out. She looked up at her brother, the closest thing to a friend she had ever had — would _ever_ have, and felt everything come crashing down around her.

She broke down and tears started rolling down her cheeks. She didn't whimper, she didn't sob, instead she just took short breaths that didn't get enough oxygen to her brain. Everyone squeezed her tighter, and she felt her dad groan like he had been kicked. This must have been his way of keeping from sobbing. She didn't dare look at him; she didn't know if she would be able to see her dad cry. She never had before, and there was something forbidden about seeing one's father cry. He had always been strong and solid, someone she felt like would never budge no matter what. Seeing him break down would make it all the more real.

"Your District partner seems strong," her dad started, "Try and team up with him, if you can. Find someone to be with. If you team up, you might both be able to come back. I want you to do whatever you have to— we all know how these Games work, we all know what's at stake. It's them or you, sweetheart."

She nodded, though the thought of having to kill someone else, even someone who would kill _her_ if need be, made her want to throw up even more. She couldn't think about it, not right then. She was on the verge of hysteria anyway, if she kept her mind occupied with the Games, she might fall into a panic attack, and then who knew what would happen. She had seen kids having panic attacks on the way to the trains, during the interviews, when the Games began— they all almost always ended up the same way.

Her mother reached out and grabbed her hand, prying her fingers open and pressing a necklace into her palm. "Here," she said. "Take this with you."

Ari looked down at it. An old Japanese coin, which her mother had said was their lineage at one point, and through it was strung an old piece of leather. She nodded, looking up into her mother's teary eyes. "I will," she promised."

Finally, too soon, the hour was up, and the Peacekeeper opened the door. "Time's up."

"No, can't we have a few more minutes?" Jack asked, turning around to look at the blank helmet that reflected his face and distorted it.

"No. Time's up. She has to go to the train."

Ari was hugged by her family one more time, and then slowly, with last words of encouragement and "I love you"s, they filed out of the room.

The Escort came, with Denver in tow. Xey had changed xeir shoes, and held xeir arm out. "Come on, Ms. Masuda. It's time to go."

Feeling like her legs weren't obeying her own will, she found herself standing and following Mandarious out of the building and towards the black car. The cameras were following them, silent witnesses; dead kids walking, they seemed to call. She saw the mentor, Jascen Mainor, get into the car's back seat. She hoped it wouldn't be cramped.

And it wasn't. There was enough room in the back seat for four people, and Mandarious sat in the front. Ari got in after Denver, so she was allowed the window seat.

"I'm really sorry about this, kids," Jascen said, looking over at them with sympathy. His eyes were haunted, made faint by the years he had gotten to know kids and had to watch them die, despite his best efforts. "I'll do whatever I can for you."

* * *

 **A/N: So this was Ari Masuda from** _ **DisorderedBeuaty**_ **and Denver Teikell from piston-the-writer!**

 **I had a lot of fun with these two, let me know what you think!**

 **In other news, I think I'm going to start updating on Friday nights rather than Mondays, since I feel like it'll be easier for people to read them the night they're posted if it's the night before the weekend!**

 **Also, with Nano, I finished all the Reapings and a chapter between Aeneas and Albia! Which means soon I'm gonna start writing the Capitol chapters! I'm super excited and so relieved to not have to worry about any more Reapings grnoaiegnroagneiogn**


	14. The Osprey and the Ferret

**Idalah Aven**

 **Two weeks ago**

"We will see you again in two weeks, Panem, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

There was stunned silence as the image of President Oak disappeared behind the symbol of Panem and the anthem began playing.

Then, Ida turned to her family: her mother, father, and five sisters. She focused on Linnea, Alba, and Amandine, the only three besides herself who were eligible for Reaping. She knew that the likelihood that they would get chosen wasn't really any different than their possibility of getting Reaped, thanks to the large amounts of tesserae they all had to take out, but she still felt a surge of terror unfamiliar to her, even when compared to Reaping days.

"Well…" her father started. "It's not as bad as it could be."

That was about all anyone could say; it could always be worse. Adults always seemed to want to comment about the last Quell, or the one before that, or the one where they took out twice the normal number of Tributes. In perspective, picking someone and making them choose someone else to replace them didn't seem all that bad.

Frankly, Ida didn't understand where they were coming from. To her, the possibility of having to be the person to pick someone else, to damn them to a horrible death in the Arena, seemed like one of the most sadistic things the Capitol had ever come up with. She couldn't imagine the survivor's guilt that would follow the people who were Reaped when they had to watch them die, knowing that it was _their fault_ they were there, that their family would have to watch that with the ever-present over-preppy voices of the commentators talking about the "logistics," as if they weren't watching real children die on screen.

The Quells were _always_ horrible, that was the _point_.

"Do you think the Reaped have to actually choose the people by name? Or do you think they can just… point at someone they don't know?" Linnea asked thoughtfully. She was probably thinking along the same lines as Ida was.

"No way to know for sure," their dad said.

"I wouldn't want to find out the consequences if someone tried and it _wasn't_ allowed," Ida muttered.

There was a heavy, oppressive silence then. She hated it when her family was silent. It always seemed to hang over the room like a quilt in the summertime.

Ida could only take it for a few moments before she felt it choking her, and she stood up suddenly.

"I'm gonna go find Gus," she said.

She left the house without even waiting for a response, but she knew her parents wouldn't mind. They probably assumed she wanted to make sure he was okay. The Quell was a shock to everyone.

It wasn't all that, though— really, she just needed to get out of that house.

She left the house in a hurry, jogging along the darkening sidewalk towards Gus' house. She knew that she was cutting it close to curfew, but she rarely saw Peacekeepers around here this late.

When she got to Gus' house, she knocked a couple times and his sister, Emire, answered the door, a hand on her distended belly.

"Hi Ida," she said. "You wanting to see Gus?"

"If he's available," she replied. "How are you?"

"Oh I'm fine, you know. Pregnancy's a bitch."

She laughed. "I definitely don't envy you," she said.

Emire stepped aside and let Ida into the neat living room.

"Gus!" the sister called, cupping her hand around her mouth. "Ida's here for you!"

He emerged a moment later, a smile on his face. "Well, if it isn't the kid?" he asked, opening his arms. "What do you want?"

"I just needed to get out of my house."

"Well I don't blame you. How about that Quell twist?" As he spoke, Gus was leading her out onto the porch as Emire returned to her room.

She shook her head. "I hate it. It seems like it makes everything that much more dangerous for us. I don't want my siblings to get picked, you know?"

"Don't stress yourself, sweetheart. District Eleven is a big place. Their chances are pretty slim anyway."

"That doesn't help. It never has."

He rolled his eyes and slung an arm around her shoulder. "I know, but someone's gotta say it, otherwise we'd both go crazy." He smiled widely at her and she couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"So how have you been?" she asked.

"Well, same old."

"How's Emire? She looks like she's about to pop."

"I know," he said, shaking his head. "I know she's not gonna have her baby until way after the Reaping, more than likely, but I can't help but hope— I don't think the stress is good for her, you know?"

She nodded. "She'll be fine. She's a strong girl, and I bet that baby is too."

He looked over his shoulder fondly. "Yeah."

Emire was eighteen, and she only had to worry about one more Reaping before she was free of it forever. Of course, that never did much to stave off the anxiety that came knocking at their psyches every year, but at least after this year she wouldn't have the risk. Besides, surely the universe wasn't cruel enough to snatch her away when she had a baby on the way— there was no way. Even the Capitol wasn't that cruel— right? She didn't think there had ever been anyone pregnant in the Arena before. She would hope that someone would Volunteer, should that ever happen, but then again, a lot of people seemed completely happy to let other people die so they could save their own skins. Ida chastised herself for that bout of internal bitterness. Of course they valued their own lives over the lives of perfect strangers. That was part of the point, after all.

"Everything okay at home?"

"Yeah," she said. "It was just... they were all talking about how it's not as bad as it could be, and yeah, I guess there are Quells that are worse— there have _been_ Quells that are worse. But this... the mental repercussions of having to choose someone to go in? I can't imagine." She sighed. "It just got... I dunno. Too much for me to handle, and stuff. I dunno."

He nodded in understanding. "It'll be okay, though. It's just a few weeks of misery and then everything will be okay again. We won't have to think about it for another year."

"And then next year, someone else will go in, and the year after that— Gus, it feels like every year someone I know isn't Reaped, the jaws close tighter and tighter around them. I just... I don't know how many years of fear I can take, you know?"

He nodded in understanding.

"It'll be okay," he said.

—

 **Kaia Bock**

 **Two months ago**

"What do you mean you're breaking up with me?" Kaden demanded, throwing his arms up.

"I mean exactly what I said," Kaia replied, crossing her arms and looking up his indignant face.

"You can't— I mean— that's not— why?"

Through some of the anger and indignation, Kaia saw genuine pain and confusion. For a moment, she almost felt a shoot of pity and guilt go through her stomach, but she quickly pushed it aside. She had to remind herself that he was just another boy. She didn't need to get sentimental about it.

"Because, Kaden, I don't like you anymore." A lie. She had never _really_ liked him. But, he was rich, and she had wanted a new pair of shoes and she hadn't wanted to buy them herself, so she had gotten with Kaden — whom she knew had a crush on her — near her birthday and dropped continuous hints about the shoes she wanted. As she had predicted, he bought them for her birthday. A few weeks had passed — enough to assuage any possible connection between the shoes and their relationship — and now she was ready to move on. There were bigger and better things she was concerning herself with, and she couldn't have Kaden weighing her down.

He sucked his lips into his mouth and shut his eyes, turning away from her. Kaia raised her eyebrows. He didn't seem like the crying type.

"Come on, Kaden, it's only a relationship. You'll get over it."

"Shut up, Kaia. Don't you ever think about anyone but yourself?"

She frowned at him. "Since when was it my job to care about your feelings?" she asked. "If I'm not happy in a relationship, then I should be under no pressure to stay in it. What do you think I am? A slave? I'm not obligated to make you happy."

He rolled his eyes but didn't speak.

"Okay Kaden, bye." With that, she turned and walked away, though she felt his eyes boring daggers into her back.

This was what Kaia did; she used her good looks to take advantage of men, and she got what she wanted. She didn't care about a lot of them; at least, not much anyway. She just had wants and needs, and getting them out of others was much more convenient than doing it herself.

Besides, none of them were as important to her as she was; at least they were in a similar class than her, which made them better than most of the other people in District Eleven, who were so poor they had to steal food from the orchards where they worked— it was a pitiful existence, really, and she abhorred the poorer people in the District.

They were all so loud and dirty and annoying, and none of them ever seemed to realize that they shouldn't be just _handed_ things in life.

Over the next few weeks, she understood just how deeply she had hurt Kaden. Not that she necessarily _cared_ about the fact that she had hurt him, but what she _did_ care about was the fact that he made sure everyone in the school knew what happened between them.

He wouldn't shut up about what a bitch she was, how she had "used" him. So now, everyone but her closest of friends hated her— not that she liked any of them, but it was horribly inconvenient, and made her dating pool all the slimmer. If every man in the school knew she was a no-good bitch who only dated people to get what she wanted, no one save the very desperate would think it was worth dating her.

"Kaia!" she heard from behind her.

She turned and saw her friend Robbyn jogging up behind her.

"Hey," she said. "Where's Kaite?"

"She's in detention," she said, rolling her eyes. "She got caught cheating on a test."

"Lame."

"Well, she can catch up with us. You want to come over?"

"Sure. What did you have in mind?"

"I figure we could study for that stupid test we have next week."

"Good idea," Kaia said. "Ever since that shit with Kaden, Garner Louis won't let me cheat off his tests anymore."

"What a dick," Robbyn said, leading her out of the school.

"Right? Now every guy in the school avoids me like I have a plague."

"Just give it time. People will forget about everything but your looks soon enough."

"Hopefully it comes sooner rather than later. It gets so boring being single, I don't know how you manage it."

They left the school into the warming spring air.

"I hate the passage of time," Kaia groaned, looking up at the sun. "Come a week from now and all we'll be doing is sweating."

"It's horrible," she agreed. "Can't wait until autumn comes back."

They went through the center of District Eleven, with the tall buildings and apartment complexes that served the more well off citizens. At least most of the poor people lived in the outskirts where they worked. It made it easier for Kaia to avoid them. The only time she actually had to _look_ at the poor people was during the Reapings, but usually she was too busy worrying about being Reaped to think about having to stand next to a poor person. At least she only had two more years of Reapings to deal with. She had kind of lulled herself into the state of believing that she would never be Reaped, because that was the only thing keeping her from freaking out about it every year. As they reached Robbyn's building, they went inside and to the elevator.

"Ugh, they need to fix this damn thing," she said as she struggled with the button corresponding to the floor she was going to.

"You'd think someone would call someone about it," Kaia said, examining her hair in a portable mirror from her pocket.

"Right? I'm going to complain soon enough."

"And then they'll _really_ get an earful."

Robbyn made a mock-offended sound. "Wow, okay," she said, rolling her eyes.

Kaia grinned at her. "Don't tell me you're not one of the best of the best at chewing people out, Robbyn. You're _proud_ of it."

"Okay, well... maybe."

Finally, the elevator seemed to recognize the request and took off, bringing them up to the twelfth floor where Robbyn lived with her sister, mom, and dad.

They went to the kitchen and got a snack before heading into Robbyn's room.

As they set their backpacks down in the corner and got onto the bed, Kaia sighed heavily.

"What am I going to do about Kaden?"

"I don't think there's anything you _can_ do, darling," she said. "He's just going to be bitter and angry for a little while. You're just going to have to wait until it's all passed, then everything will be back to normal."

She sighed. "But waiting for that shit takes _so_ fucking long. It's so annoying."

"Well maybe next time, you should be a little more careful with how you break up with someone— or you don't date people who will whine and get all pissy when you break up with them."

"Men are so entitled, aren't they?" she said.

Robbyn smiled and stood after a moment. She went to her backpack, drawing out the notebook for the test they were studying for. "Come on, homework will distract you."

—

 **Ida Aven**

 **Present Day**

Ida didn't sleep at all the night before the Reaping; every time she managed to slip into something somewhat resembling sleep, she was roused by terrible nightmares, seeing everyone she cared about ripped away, seeing them taken to the Arena where they were murdered for the Capitolite's entertainment, and she couldn't do anything to save them.

So when the sun finally rose, and she could justify going out to herself, she rose and went outside. It was still cold from the overnight chill, but she didn't mind so much. It was bracing, to be out in the morning at this time.

She walked around for a little while. She would occasionally see others, some who were getting groceries or going to work in the shops before everything had to close. She had never really understood why the shops were open at all. Even though the Reaping wasn't until early in the afternoon, everyone in the outer edge of the District would have to bus into the center for the Reaping anyway, so it seemed more convenient to just stay closed— though, she supposed, they needed all the business they could get.

Soon, as the morning was getting on, she went home. She washed and dressed in her favorite dress, and sat in the living room, staring out the window as the street became more alive in front of her.

She heard a door open and turned, seeing Linnea emerge.

"Morning," she said quietly to her. She waved back before disappearing into the bathroom.

Soon one by one the family rose from bed and went to the bathroom, bathing and dressing, and then going to the living room to wait for Ida's mother to cook breakfast.

A lot of people liked having the Reapings so late in the afternoon; Ida hated it. It was just longer to wait, longer to worry, longer to feel that gnawing anxiety eating away at her insides. She just wanted it to be over, wanted to know she and her loved ones would be safe for another three-hundred and sixty-five days.

When the time finally came, the Avens left their house and went down to the crowded bus station, full of crying children and stressed adults, and everyone thinking about the two Tributes they would be sending off to slaughter.

The bus ride took two hours, and Ida wished she could sleep through it like Rosalind.

When they got to the square, Ida looked around for Gus. She wanted to say hello to him before she got in line. She found him standing around the edge of the square, evidently looking around for her. Emire was standing beside him, keeping close to him and her boyfriend. She looked terrified. She had to worry enough for two, Ida supposed.

She waved to her parents, Mariposa, and Rosalind, before going over to him with Linnea, Alba, and Amandine in tow.

She waved to Gus, and he smiled. It was a tight smile, nothing like the joyful, toothy grins he was usually so keen on giving her. It was the kind of smile that one gave others at a funeral, or on Reaping Days, which were basically precursors to funerals.

She returned the not-smile, and awkwardly hugged Emire as they reached them.

"How do you feel?" he asked her.

"Well, you know how it is," she replied with a small shrug. "I feel about as good as can be expected."

"It'll be over soon," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "We just have to survive the boring old Treaty first."

She allowed herself a small chuckle. "I'll see you after," she said. She motioned for Emire to follow her and the others as she went towards the quickly growing line.

She put a hand on Amandine's shoulder. She was always afraid of getting her blood drawn, and it was all Ida could do to keep her from having an anxiety attack every year.

She figured she would get used to it though, the longer she had to put up with it. A lot of kids she knew were afraid of having their blood drawn by the seemingly robotic Peacekeepers. It was just the first in a long line of horrors that came along with Reaping Day.

When they had all been registered, Ida kissed the tops of her sister's heads and went with Emire to the section with the other eighteen-year-olds.

She looked around, idly trying to spot anyone she might know. She didn't, of course. The pen was huge, and about the only person she was more than acquaintances with was Gus. So after a while of fruitless looking, she turned her attention to the stage, where the Mayor was sitting with his ankles politely crossed, making polite conversation with their monochrome Escort, Darium Blue. She changed her last name to fit her theme color for the year, so, of course, her outfit was different shades of blue, her hair was dyed the color of a winter sky, and even her skin seemed to be pigmented to give off the slightest hint of periwinkle.

Seeing her watching the Escort, Emire leaned over. "At least it's not as gaudy as that God-awful violet year," she whispered.

Ida chuckled. "Yeah," she agreed.

There was a commotion to the side of the stage, but they were so far back that Ida couldn't see what was happening.

After a moment though, she learned the cause: Marty McIntosh, the aging Mentor for District Eleven, was stumbling up the stairs.

Marty had won the games thirty-two years ago, and everyone always said that he had never been right since. Of course there was the drugs and the alcohol, but that was almost expected of Victors. No, he tended to talk to himself, or was sometimes known for great bouts of pitiful sadness. There were stories from the cities of him wandering into cafes drunk and sobbing, and the Peacekeepers often had to be called to carry him away. He wasn't dangerous, as far as anyone knew — except maybe to himself — but it was always depressing to watch someone spiral like that.

Ida wondered if he was ever any use to the kids he mentored, or if all he did was drink and feel sorry for them all before bidding them goodbye and sending them to their deaths. The Mentors were rarely in the limelight if they ended up like Marty. There were some — usually from the Career Districts — who got interviews in the weeks leading up to the Games, when they were asked to reminisce about their life and give advice or predictions about that year's Games. But those were the ones who stayed beautiful, stayed charismatic, the ones who didn't sink into depression after watching pair after pair of kids march off to die.

Ida didn't pay attention as the Treaty of Treason was read, instead she allowed her eyes to sweep over the square, looking at nothing but at the same time everything. She only ever really got to come to the center of the District for Reaping days, and the tall buildings and paved streets were still unfamiliar to her. There didn't seem to be a tree in sight, a far and away difference from the outskirts, where there were probably more orchards than people.

Everything seemed so dark and grey here, though. It all seemed horribly depressing. She hated having to work in the orchards; it was hard, and none of the workers were paid enough to have decent living conditions, but she didn't know if she would be able to stand living in the inner part of the District. It all seemed so bleak and depressing, like it was cloudy every day.

As the Treaty came to a close, the Mayor stepped aside and allowed the Escort to take his place.

Darium, despite her outlandish appearance, was surprisingly... normal for a Capitolite. She wasn't the flighty, chirpy type like most of the other Escorts. She just had a bizarre fashion taste.

"Thank you, Mayor Winthrop," she said. "Well. I have a good feeling about today, and I'd like to take a moment and express how happy I am to be here with all of you, and I'm honored to be able to stand next to Mayor Winthrop and Marty McIntosh." She sent a smiling glance over her shoulder. "Well, now for the business." She quickly summarized the Quell twist, as if anyone could forget it, before she sent a restrained smile out into the crowd. "I feel like we can pull some winners this year, and as they used to say, 'may the odds be ever in your favor.'"

Ida shuddered, remembering the night of the Quell announcement, with President Oak's cool, monotone voice and ever-vigilant eyes.

Darium went over to the boy's bowl and dug around for a name.

The tension mounted to an almost unbearable amount as she crossed the stage back to the microphone. "Kaden Torrid!"

A guy peeled away from the sixteen-year-olds and went up to the stage. He didn't look nervous or guilty, just... determined. Ida felt nausea boil in her stomach. That meant he knew exactly who he was going to pick. Someone had gained his evil eye so much that he was willing to send them to an almost certain death— she couldn't imagine hating someone that much.

"The person I'm choosing to replace me is Kaia Bock," he said, his voice echoing over the deathly silent square. A silent sigh of relief made its way through the gathering, though Ida knew one person's life had just ended.

A girl went down the walkway, Ida could barely see her. Then, she heard some harsh words, though they were quiet since she had no microphone.

Evidently she didn't like the fact that Kaden had picked her, and wanted to make sure he knew it.

After a moment though, the confrontation ended, and Kaia mounted the stage.

"Volunteers?" Darium asked, looking out into the crowd. Kaia was crying up on the stage, wiping furiously at her face as though it would keep it hidden. Ida felt a wave of pity rise in her chest.

The pity only distracted her from the anxiety for a moment, because danger was once again imminent. Darium was crossing the stage over to the girl's bowl. Ida felt her heart beat in her ears, and Emire reached over and took her hand, squeezing it tightly.

"Danica Greene!"

A girl moved past behind them, and Ida felt panic. That meant she and Emire were possibilities.

 _At least the others are safe,_ she thought to herself. She watched as the girl mounted the stage, who looked absolutely panicked.

"Do you know who you want to replace you?" Darium asked.

Danica turned her head away from the microphone and spoke to Darium, who nodded.

She searched the crowd of eighteen-year-olds, before raising a hand and pointing. "The girl in the blue and pink dress."

Simultaneously, every girl in the section looked down at their clothes. Emire gasped and squeezed her hand painfully.

Emire's dress was blue and pink.

"No," Ida said as she started going towards the walkway. "They can't, you're pregnant!"

"Ida, let me go," she whispered. She turned and looked at her, and her eyes were filled with tears. She was so afraid, she knew she was, and Ida couldn't bear it.

She pulled away and went quickly up to the stage. Once the kid who picked her saw the large bump protruding from her stomach, Danica's eyes widened. "Oh my God."

Ida's mind was racing as she followed her to the edge of the pen. She had only a few seconds to make a decision, before Emire would be whisked away into the Justice Building and she would have to go away to the Arena.

There was a muttering in the crowd as they watched the very pregnant girl climb the stairs.

Darium helped her up and put a hand on her shoulder, asking her name before turning her attention outward.

"Any Volunteers?" she asked.

Ida threw her arms out of the pen and called "Yes!"

The crowd turned to regard her, and Darium's eyes searched for the voice.

"I Volunteer!"

The Peacekeepers came and let her out of the pen, leading her up to the stage.

"Ida, you don't have to do this," Emire said.

"Yes I do," she replied. She hugged her tightly, her eyes filled with tears. "I can't let them take you. You have more at stake."

She felt Emire's chest heave a sob and she pulled away from the hug. "Make sure the baby's healthy, for me, okay?"

Emire nodded and opened her mouth to say more, but the Peacekeepers were leading her down the stairs and back to the pen.

"What's your name?" the Escort asked.

"Idalah," she replied. "Idalah Aven."

"Was that your sister?"

She shook her head. "My best friend's sister."

Darium nodded, making a sympathetic sound, before moving on.

"Well, shake hands, the two of you," she said.

Kaia was looking at Ida with something that seemed almost like hatred. Why? Did she despise her because she had Volunteered for Emire and not her? Did she hate her because she hadn't been chosen? Why all of a sudden did she seem to regard her with such derision? Kaia seemed like she would vomit at having to touch Ida's hand, and after the handshake was over, Darium turned them so they could look out into the crowd. Ida didn't look at the people, though. She didn't want to risk seeing her sisters, or her parents, or Gus. So she kept her eyes on the tall grey buildings surrounding the square, staring down at her with indifference.

After a satisfactory moment, Darium led them off the stage and to the Justice Building.

—

 **Kaia Bock**

 **Present Day**

As she was led into the Justice Building, Kaia immediately separated herself as far as she could from the other Tribute. She could tell by her appearance that she was poor, and she didn't want to have to be near one of them in addition to having been Reaped.

She cursed Kaden's name, the very thought of him, for putting her in this situation. It wasn't _fair_. All she had done was break up with him— that didn't justify sending her to the fucking Hunger Games, did it? It was ridiculous. He had overreacted from the start, and this was proof.

She marched into the goodbye room and sat down, still angrily wiping at her eyes and nose, trying to stop the tears as they came.

After a moment, the door swung open, and Robbyn and Kaite came in. They were both crying too and saying something to her, but she couldn't really make out what it was, since they were both talking over one another and through sobs.

They came and sat down, throwing their arms around her. Of course, this just made her cry harder.

"It's not fucking fair!" Robbyn exclaimed. "This is stupid! He shouldn't have chosen you— that was _so_ immature of him!"

"He could have picked anyone, someone who had a fighting chance— this isn't fair, he should know what he's done!"

Kaia nodded but didn't say anything. She agreed, of course, and had been thinking much of the same things as her friends were saying, but she didn't feel like speaking at the moment.

She wanted them to say something, anything, tell her that she would be okay, that she would come back, that she had a chance, that she could — would — win, but she supposed they didn't want to lie to her anymore than she wanted to lie to herself. She supposed she was just doomed. Of course, that made her cry even _harder_.

"It's not fair," she started after she managed to find her voice again, "I deserve better than this, I _deserve_ better!"

"You so do," Kaite said, looking up at her and wiping her eyes. "There should be, like, a rule or something that would prevent this."

"You know there's not," she replied, "don't be stupid."

Kaite frowned at her, but after a moment shook her head and didn't pursue it. She probably chalked up the cruelty to emotional trauma.

"Maybe if you get some allies, someone stronger than you, you can have a chance," Robbyn said.

"And have them stab me in my sleep? Please, don't be naive."

"Well— there's got to be something, you can't just lay down and die!"

"I'm not going to, stupid. Of course I'm going to try, but I'm not going to team up with anyone. I can take care of myself. All I have to do is learn how to survive, get supplies, and hide. Plenty of people have won by being smart and waiting it out."

"Yeah, maybe." Something in her voice betrayed just how unlikely she thought that was.

Eventually their allotted time together passed, and her friends left with teary goodbyes and meager words of encouragement. Needless to say, they did little to lighten her mood.

Next her parents and brother came in. He was only seven, and he was crying like a little baby. Seven-year-olds were surprisingly aware of the world around them, even though older people tended to think they were all oblivious. He crawled into her lap and Kaia wrapped her arms around him. She was starting to regret every time she was mean to him, every cruel word said, every time she refused to play with him because she had better things to do. It felt like she had taken all of that for granted, and now she was likely going to die in the next few weeks. He knew it, too, which explained why he was such a wreck.

Her mother was crying, too, and her father had clenched his hands into fists in a pitiful attempt to hide any emotions he might be feeling.

They sat on either side of her.

"I don't want you to give up, Kaia," her mother said, stroking her hair.

"I'm not, mom, I'm not stupid." She couldn't help being a little harsh. There was a lot to be bitter about, after all.

Her mom had always been more fond of Dane than she had of her, but now that didn't really matter too much. Soon, Dane would probably be an only child, and she wouldn't have to worry about divvying up her love among her children. Maybe that was why she was so emotional— like Kaia, she was thinking about all the things she had taken for granted, which were soon going to be ripped from her in the most gruesome of ways.

"I want you to find someone you can trust," her father was saying. "Someone who's not going to betray you first. I want you to make friends, pair up with them. There's strength in numbers. And when the time is right, get off on your own. Once it gets down to the final six, alliances tend to break up. Either leave or kill them, whatever, just make sure you make it."

"I will," she replied automatically. She didn't want to think about having to kill someone, and she still didn't plan on getting in an alliance at all— that all seemed ridiculous and difficult. She would do better on her own anyway, and it wouldn't come with all of that emotional baggage either.

"You're going to be amazing," he said, putting his heavy hand on her shoulder.

She nodded robotically. "I know," she whispered.

Eventually, her parents also left, and she was alone. She wondered, briefly, if Kaden was going to come, come to gloat in her face, sneer at her; she almost wished he would, so she could give him a piece of her mind, but he never did.

A few acquaintances from school came as well, all saying about the same things as Robbyn and Kaite had.

Finally, the Peacekeeper came and escorted her from the Justice Building. She got into the shiny black car, looking out of it. She felt like she would start crying again, but no tears came. She realized, distantly, that she was hungry. She hoped there was food on the train.

—

 **Ida Aven**

 **Present Day**

Although Ida was proud of Volunteering for Emire, for ensuring that her best friend's pregnant sister didn't have to go into the Games — where she would be at a much greater disadvantage than Ida would be — it didn't help to abate that crushing terror that threatened to pull her stomach out of her mouth.

She sat deathly still on the floor in the goodbye room, her back up against the couch cushions. She waited a few minutes for her visitors to come, focusing on what she wanted to say to them, instead of the tiny breakfast that was threatening to make a reappearance.

Finally, the door slowly opened, and in came Emire. She was alone; Ida wondered at that. Maybe Gus wanted to talk to her by himself later. She figured that was it.

"What are you doing on the floor?" she asked, approaching.

"I feel like I'm going to be sick," she replied, not looking at her.

"Do you need help?"

She shook her head. "You wouldn't be able to bend over enough to pick me up anyway," she said with a slight smile.

"Well, maybe not." She sat down on the couch near where Ida's head was resting and stroked her hair gently.

"I wish you hadn't Volunteered for me, Ida."

"There's no way in hell I would have let you go in, Emire."

"I know— and, logically, I guess I know, too, that I wouldn't have stood a chance anyway. So I guess I should be grateful to you. But... I dunno. I just don't want to lose you. And neither does Gus, or your family."

"I know," she said, leaning her head back and shutting her eyes. "I know. But it's worth it."

Emire sighed in a way that made it obvious that wasn't how she saw it, but whatever she was thinking never made its way from her lips.

They sat like that in a comfortable silence with Emire gently stroking her hair. It was comforting, and although the two were the same age, it was almost motherly.

Finally, though, she stood up. "I should go," she said.

Ida found the strength to stand as well, and embraced her as tightly as she could. Then, she leaned down and kissed her belly. "You be good for her," she said into her skin.

She watched as Emire left, rubbing a tear from her cheek.

Swallowing hard, Ida sat down on the couch, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

She looked up when the door opened again, and her enormous family came pouring in.

 _At least if I'm going to die,_ she thought to herself, _there will be one less mouth to feed._

Her sisters all came rushing at her like a tidal wave of tears, and everyone hugged her. Rosalind was in her lap, burying her face into Ida's shirt and sobbing.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," she said gently to her, rubbing her back. All the other kids were crying, of course, though the older ones were trying to be subtle about it so they could comfort the younger ones. There was no deluding them though; they knew what was going to happen, even five-year-old Rosalind. Even if they didn't have the vocabulary to express it, every child in Panem knew what it meant if their sibling went into the Hunger Games; they had been exposed to it every year of their lives. They knew most of them didn't come home.

"I don't want you to go!" Rosalind wailed, shaking her head. Ida knew she was getting snot all over her shirt, but she didn't care. Once she got to the Capitol, it was unlikely she'd ever wear this shirt again.

"It'll be okay, Rose," she said quietly, rocking her back and forth. "I'll try to come back, okay?"

She looked up at her, eyes big and round and wetter than a bowl of water.

"Promise?" she asked.

Ida forced a smile onto her face and held up her hand, pinky extended. "Pinky promise," she said.

Rosalind smiled, just a little bit, and hooked their pinkies together.

Ida looked up at her parents, and then directed her attention back down to her sister. "Can you get off me for a minute? I want to hug mom and dad."

Obediently, she slid off of her and she stood up. Her parents both hugged her; carefully, gently, as though she were breakable, as though, if they squeezed her too hard she would shatter.

Ida didn't feel fragile, though. She felt strong, and proud. She was _glad_ she had had the opportunity to save her friend from her fate. She was afraid, for sure, and she was anguished that she would have to leave her parents, her friends, everything she had ever known and loved, but she was glad she was going in, instead of Emire.

"We believe in you," her mother whispered.

The family sat close together for a little while, and then it came time for them to leave.

Ida had expected it to be harder to watch them leave, but it was surprisingly easy. Maybe she was in shock, maybe the reality of this had been so traumatic that her brain had shut off all emotion so she wouldn't have to feel any of it.

After a few minutes of silence and stillness, Gus came in. His eyes were filled with tears and his face was red.

Ida felt something in her snap at that sight; Gus had always been older, stronger, wiser. He had been the one who had picked her up every time she had fallen, was the strong one, the rock. Whatever he dealt with, he always dealt with it with a smile, not with tears. Now, it seemed like he couldn't even pretend a smile.

She stood up and went over to him. She threw herself into his arms and he caught her, squeezing her.

"I wish I could be in your place," he whispered to her.

"I know you do," she said quietly. "I'm glad you're not, though."

"Of course you are," he said. He shook his head and pressed his cheek up against the top of her head. "I want you to come back," he said then.

"I'll try," she said. She didn't have the heart to bring up her slim odds. She wondered if anyone ever did; she doubted it.

Finally, he pulled away from the hug. "Be smart, Ida. You're intelligent, you stand a chance. You're fast."

Sure, she was fast, but that wasn't enough in the Arena; you had to be strong, if you wanted to survive to the end. Strong, or really, _really_ lucky. She had never seen anyone run a person to death in the Hunger Games.

Her odds seemed to get slimmer and slimmer by the minute.

"If you just— maybe you can get an ally, someone to make up for what you lack."

"How can I trust anyone in the Arena?" she asked, looking up at him. "Most of the alliances that aren't between District partners end with someone getting a knife in the back— I don't want to be that guy."

"Then be the other guy."

"What?"

"The one holding the knife, Ida."

She shook her head. She hadn't quite adjusted to _that_ part of the reality. She would need another few hours before she came to terms with the fact that she would likely have to kill people if she wanted to have any chance of winning.

"I couldn't— that's horrible, Gus."

"Ida, please. Now is not the time for moral issues!"

"Can we please talk about something else? I feel like I'm going to throw up."

He sighed and hugged her again, gently. An apology in a gesture. "Of course," he said softly.

They did their best to chat about other things, things that didn't matter, but eventually it dissolved into dreadful silence; there wasn't much else to talk about during the goodbyes.

Finally, the Peacekeeper came in. "Times up," she told them.

Ida looked up at Gus, and saw that he was crying again. Momentarily, she felt bad that she wasn't also in tears— she chalked it up to shock, though.

They hugged one last time and they left the room. He left the building while Ida waited for the Darium, Marty, and her District partner, Kaia.

Once everyone had been assembled, they were brought out of the Justice Building and to the car. Kaia seemed like she wanted anything except for having to sit in the car with her, but whatever she was thinking, she kept it to herself. That was fine by Ida; she didn't want to talk.

—

 **A/N: This was Kaia Bock from** _ **IciclePower33**_ **and Ida Aven from** _ **recklessinparadise**_ **! I really enjoyed these two— let me know what you think!**

 **We're so close to being done with Reapings! I'm excited!**

 **Also, I'm going to start posting every Friday, because I'm realizing no one really reads fanfiction on Mondays gnoaigioan**


	15. The Flamingo and the Dart Frog

**Desmond Shard**

 **Seven months ago**

"So there I was," Desmond said, his voice low and ominous. "The Peacekeeper was staring me down. I couldn't see his eyes, but I knew they were filled with fire."

An awed hush fell over the gathering.

"'You'd better stay where you belong,' he said, his hand fondling the end of the baton. I stood my ground, though. 'No!' I replied. 'I'll go wherever I please, and there's nothing you can do about it.' 'Oh isn't there?' He took the baton out, hitting it against the palm of his hand a few times. 'Last I checked, the Peacekeepers are the law in District Twelve.' 'Maybe so,' I said. 'But that doesn't mean I have to be scared of you.'"

"What happened?" Lilliana's wide eyes stared up at him in wonder.

"He went to hit me with the baton— I think he probably wanted to whip me too— but then he decided to think better of it. 'You're not worth it, squirt,' he said, before turning and going away— like a little baby!"

Everyone laughed and crowed at that, and Desmond felt a swell of pride in his chest.

Sure, it was a _little_ exaggerated, but the rush of knowing that everyone in the room was paying attention to him and only him, who were hanging on to his every word, made it all worth it.

"Shard, you're so brave!" Skyler said.

Desmond smiled down at him. "Well, buddy, I think that's something everyone in the District should aspire to be. I think that's part of the reason everything's so bad here— no one's willing to step out of the mold, be brave and stand up to the bullies so they don't mess with us."

The kids started chattering quietly between one another at that, and then one by one, they left.

Desmond sat back in the chair he was sitting in, shutting his eyes.

"Some story."

He looked up and saw that it was Tucker. He had his arms crossed and was smiling wryly at him. "You and I both know that's not really how it happened."

"Of _course_ I know that," he replied. He couldn't fool Tucker about this particular event, seeing as he had actually _been there_. "I had to give the kids a story though, right?"

"I guess. Just make sure they don't go around arguing with Peacekeepers. That's how people get killed."

"I know, I know." He sighed, looking out the door after where the kids had disappeared. "I wish it didn't have to be like that though, Tuck. I wish we could stand up for what we believe in, I wish we could go after what we want. I'm sick and tired of being at the bottom of the heap."

"The bottom of the heap?"

"We live in the Seam in District Twelve, Tucker. We're about as low-down as can be."

"What about Thirteen? They're still recovering from the fucking bombings, and that was _seventy-five years ago_."

"And? At least they have fucking science and shit. Madison told me that her brother told her that they have a university for medicine, all for themselves. We don't have anything in Twelve but coal mines and—" he motioned around and sighed. "Rubble."

Tucker sighed and sat down next to him. "Maybe with all that ambition you'll actually be able to make something of yourself, become a merchant, or something."

"But that's not enough!" he exclaimed. "I want to be a _somebody_. I can't be contented being part of the merchant class. I'd still be a no-good kid from the slums of District Twelve. Just because I won't have to take Tesserae out every year just to fucking survive doesn't mean I won't be a nobody."

He looked over at him for a moment. "Alright man, have it your way," he said, shaking his head and standing. "I'm gonna go with Carlos and Madison to go see if we can find some food. You want to come?"

He shook his head. "Not really," he said. He wasn't really in the mood to do _anything_ now that he was thinking about just how shitty life in District Twelve was.

"Well. You know where to find us, if you get hungry," he said, before he left as well.

Desmond sighed and shut his eyes again, thinking about everything he wished he could do with his life, everything that wasn't available to him because he was poor, or because he lived in District Twelve, or because he lived in _Panem_ , for that matter. He wished he could be anywhere else, though he didn't know if "anywhere else" existed. For all he knew, Panem was all there was in the world.

Eventually he got sick of sitting there alone and left the small shack that served as his story hutch. The kids from all around the Seam came to listen to all his misadventures. Some of them were true — with a little twist to make them more interesting and heroic, of course — and some of them were blatantly false, but all these little kids didn't need to know that. For all they were concerned, everything Desmond — or as he liked to be called, Shard — did could be true. At least then he'd be a somebody in _their_ eyes.

He walked towards his house, arms wrapped tightly around himself against the wind. He kicked a piece of coal for a few feet, before bending and picking it up. It must have fallen out of a cart, or something. Well, anything was better than nothing. "Waste not want not," as their annoying Escort always said. He seemed to have all the answers about what it was like living in District Twelve, despite the fact that he only came there once a year.

When he got home, he saw his sister Janet sitting at the table, a piece of cloth and thread in her hand. It looked like a shirt of hers she was fixing.

"Hey," he said, waving to her.

She looked up and waved the fabric back and forth for a moment. "Hi," she said.

He went to the room the two of them shared and sat down, sighing. And he had been in such a good mood, too.

* * *

 **Ayana Wainwright**

 **Two months ago**

Ayana smiled as she allowed her aunts and grandmother to examine her. She felt her chest bursting with pride as they mumbled approvingly to one another. Though they had seen her only yesterday, today was a special day. It was her birthday, so of course her relatives were partaking in their yearly ritual.

"You're getting awfully tall, youngin'," her aunt Misti said.

"You'll be ready to start working full time in the shop soon enough," her grandmother agreed.

That made her smile grow even wider. "You think so?" she asked, looking earnestly up at her.

Inheriting her family's dry goods shop, which the Wainwrights had owned and operated as long as anyone could remember, was Ayana's fondest dream; what she had been working for all her life. Knowing that now she was becoming acceptable in her family's eyes told her that all her hard work had paid off.

"Well, maybe at the end of this year. For right now, you can continue like you are, working part of the time, proving that you can handle the responsibility. Now that you're seventeen you're going to have to start thinking about your adulthood."

Ayana internalized a cringe— a skill that she had learned long ago. "Thinking about her adulthood" was grandma Gardenia talk for finding a husband and starting a family. The family part being more important than the husband part. She needed to continue the Wainwright line, ensure that there were people to look after the shop after she too had gone. The problem was, marrying and having a family almost always implied associating with men... something Ayana didn't think she was going to do anymore. She wasn't quite sure on that, but her track record with men wasn't all that good; she had had boyfriends before, quite a few, but their relationships never worked out because, more often than not, Ayana just... didn't feel attracted to them.

Her grandmother's comment certainly doused her mood, but she was careful not to show it.

"I will," she promised, with about as much conviction as she could muster.

Aunt Calluna straightened up and smiled down at her. "You're going to be the crowning achievement of this family," she said to her.

"Thank you, Aunt Calluna," she said, ducking her head.

The older women then retired to the kitchen to talk with her mother as she cooked dinner. Ayana knew that was her dismissal, and she called into the kitchen, "I'm going to go find Wisteria! I'll be back later!" The lack of a response was as good as a blessing, so she left and went towards her best friend's house.

She knocked on the door, expecting her father to open the door, as he usually did, but this time it was Wisteria. She smiled at her. "There's the birthday girl!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around her.

Ayana internalized a sigh. That would sound far too smitten to be good. The truth was, she had had a crush on her best friend since they were thirteen, but there were so many things wrong with it that Ayana regularly wished she could just... turn that shit off.

For one thing, Wisteria had a boyfriend, and had been with him for two years. For another, she didn't know Ayana was gay. She hadn't gotten the courage to tell anyone, not even her best friend, and she didn't want to make their relationship more complicated by telling her. She was content being her best friend, she always had been, but she couldn't help the little squeeze in her heart every time she laughed, or the way she felt her stomach flip when she saw Wisteria and her boyfriend kiss.

"Hi," she said, pushing her feelings down into the depths of her being where they belonged. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she said with a small shrug. "You look like you're bursting at the seams though— what happened?"

"My grandmother said I could probably start working full time at the shop soon!" she said, unable to suppress the grin that curled her face.

"Oh that's great!" she exclaimed. "You must be so happy."

"I am," she said. "I just have to survive another year or two, or something. I dunno. They were all kind of vague."

"Sounds like your family," she said. "Can you stay long? Or do you have your birthday dinner to get back to?"

"Yeah, my mom's cooking right now, so I have a little less than a half an hour. I just wanted to come by. I didn't want you to think I had forgotten about you."

"Oh shucks. I know you wouldn't forget about me."

They talked a little while longer before Ayana decided that she would have to get home before her dinner got cold. She waved goodbye to her before leaving and heading back to her house.

She went inside and found her family sitting around the table waiting for her. She sat with them, and her mother brought out the food. They sang to her, and Ayana couldn't help but smile as they did. It felt nice to be appreciated, to see that all her hard work was paying off; it made all the pain and struggle it took to get there seem worth it.

* * *

 **Desmond Shard**

 **Present Day**

Desmond said goodbye to his parents and went to find his friends in the crowd. They had all agreed to meet up beforehand so they could stand together during the Reaping. He found them standing in a small clump not far from where the line was forming. He waved to them and came over.

"Hey Shard," Carlos said, smiling.

Desmond smiled back. "Hi."

He had had a crush on Carlos for ages, before he even knew him as Carlos— he had suddenly realized one day that he liked spending time with him, liked holding his hand, he kept looking for excuses for them to hang out together.

He didn't know if Carlos felt the same way, and since he had realized he was trans, he was still figuring himself out, so Shard found it unlikely that he knew either.

The four of them went to the back of the line, talking to one another. They were all obviously trying to ignore the fact that they were in line for the Reaping, that today two kids from the District would be chosen to go into the Hunger Games. Maybe if they kept talking about other things, normal things, it would make this day less real, and it would keep their fear at bay.

As they came to the front of the line, Desmond noticed that the girl in front of him was gagging slightly. He wondered if it was a fear of needles or something. He knew a couple of kids who were like that, or who fainted at the sight of blood. He didn't mind though— he got into so much shit he was more than used to a little pain or a little blood.

As they all filed into the pen, near the ropes, Madison looked up at the stage. There was something in her eyes that Desmond couldn't quite name, but it made her look older. It must have been something pretty depressing.

He didn't focus on it, though, knowing that if he started thinking about the Hunger Games he wouldn't be able to stop, and then he'd start freaking out.

They continued messing around slightly while they waited for the Reaping to start, and although their voices dropped considerably, they continued on even through the reading of the Treaty of Treason. Shade hadn't cared enough about it to be "respectful" since before he was even _eligible_ to be Reaped.

They stopped, though, as the Escort took to the stage. "Good morning, District Twelve," he said, waiting his hand around. "What a wonderful day for a Reaping! I'm so very excited for this Quarter Quell, aren't you all?"

No one spoke.

"Well, let's get right on along— I'm sure you'd all like to get back to your lives. Let's start with the gentlemen!"

He went over to the boy's bowl and pulled a name before heading back over to the microphone. "Um— Francine Noble?" He seemed confused as to why a person with a girl's name was in the boy's bowl, but Shard recognized it.

She was a girl in one of his classes. She wasn't old enough to have her gender marker changed, but she had had her name officially changed a year ago.

He watched as she left the crowd and went up to the stage. She was shaking like a leaf as she looked into the depths of the fourteen-year-olds section.

"Do you have the name of someone to replace you?" the Escort asked.

Francine didn't respond, didn't even look at the Escort. It was almost a full moment before she whispered into the microphone, "Desmond Shard?"

As that sunk in, Desmond couldn't help but laugh. It was a nervous laugh, and it accompanied a waver in his voice. He looked towards the edge of the pen as everyone who recognized him turned to look at him. He took a breath and put on the bravest smile he could, despite the fact that he felt like his insides were disentagrating.

Carlos, Tucker, and Madison were staring at him in horror, but he didn't look any of them in the face. He patted Tucker on the shoulder as he went through the crowd, emerging onto the walkway. He jogged up to the stage and smiled at Francine. "Jeez Francine, if you'd waited any longer, I would have volunteered myself just to get it over with!" He forced another laugh out, hoping it sounded more confident than he felt.

She looked at him with wide, fearful eyes, but after a moment, nodded and went down the stairs. She returned to the fourteen-year-old's section. Desmond took a deep breath, trying to control his rapidly beating heart.

"Now onto the ladies!" the Escort announced, smiling as he went to the girl's bowl. "Perulla Stritchcroft!"

A girl who Desmond recognized from the Seam came quickly up to the stage.

"Do you have a name for someone to replace you?"

"I do. Ayana Wainwright. She's a stuck up, merchant brat, and her merchant status won't get her anywhere in the Games."

The Escort raised his eyebrows. There was a shuffle in the crowd and a pair of Peacekeepers pulled Ayana from the seventeens. She was kicking and struggling, and as they pulled her up onto the stage, she lunged at Perulla, shouting a curse at her and taking a lump of her hair in her hand. She was quickly pulled back by the Peacekeepers, but managed to take the clump of hair with her.

Desmond's eyes were wide as Perulla went running down the stairs sobbing, and looked over at his District partner in surprise. She had tears running down her face and her hands were clenched. She had dropped the clump of hair soon after detaching it from the other girl's skull.

After a moment, the Escort moved along, desperately trying to get control of the situation. "Alright. Well, Desmond, Ayana, I'd like you to shake hands now."

Reluctantly, Desmond put his hand out. Ayana stared at it for a second before she took it, shaking it once.

Once they had finished, and had been given the opportunity to look out into the crowd, they were brought to the Justice Building.

Once he was alone, Desmond went to sit down on the couch in the goodbyes room and let out a shaky breath. Now that the cameras and eyes had gone, and there wasn't anyone else to see, the shock and horror of this reality finally sunk in and he started crying.

"I don't want this, I don't want this," he whispered, rocking back and forth and clutching his hands together.

After a moment, the door opened, and Desmond's parents and older sister came in. Janet was crying, and his mother was standing close to his father, with his arm wrapped tightly around her.

They came over and sat with him, and everyone was talking at once. Desmond could hardly hear them, though. To him, it was almost like he was listening to something from two houses down. It was muffled, and he couldn't understand anything but tone.

Finally, he managed to pull himself back into the present, and looked up at his family. He was trying his best to keep from crying again. If he did, he knew it would be easy to tell from the high-definition cameras. He didn't want to look weak for the Capitolites, the Careers, or any possible allies he might have a chance with. Because he knew if he wanted to have a chance of winning, he would have to find a group he could lead, people who wouldn't be able to see that his leadership abilities wasn't more than a facade— he wouldn't have a chance alone.

"Oh, Desmond," his mother was saying, her face leaned into his hair.

He awkwardly wrapped an arm her, leaning close. "It's okay, mom," he said softly. "Don't cry. I'll be okay."

"No," she whispered. He wasn't sure if was saying he wasn't going to be okay, or if she was just reacting to the situation. Really, it didn't matter.

Janet wiped her eyes and contained a sob.

His dad, apparently in an effort to keep from crying as well, started talking to him about strategy, about what he needed to do to win over sponsors in the Capitol, talking about how they would be watching District Twelve, that he would have to find a group of capable people to make sure he could make it to the end. Desmond hardly listened. It was all things he had heard and observed before; he had been watching the Hunger Games since he was a kid, he knew all the strategies, everything that a person could do to make sure they survived— none of it ever made a difference, though. They almost always died.

Soon, too soon, he had to say goodbye and his parents left.

His next visitor surprised him: it was Francine, the girl who had chosen him.

She was in tears, and as she came in, she didn't advance. Instead, she just stood near the door, as if she were afraid he might attack her.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, her hand over her mouth. "I didn't— I didn't pick you because of some grudge, or something. I just— didn't know what to do. I knew I needed to call a name, and I thought you might have a chance. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Maybe other people would be angry. Hell, maybe he _should_ be angry, but as he watched this girl sobbing in front of him, just repeating her apology, he couldn't bring himself to express whatever anger he might feel towards her.

"Don't apologize, Francine," he said to her. "I understand. I know you didn't want to do it. No one would. That's why this Quell is so fucked up."

She swallowed hard and looked up at him. "You mean it?" she asked quietly.

"Yes of course."

She nodded. "Thank you," she whispered.

Even if Desmond _was_ angry, he didn't want to give her any more grief or guilt than he needed to. She'd be guilty just having to watch him suffer and die, but she didn't need to have any more guilt that was necessary. She was so nice; she didn't deserve it.

"I— that was all I wanted to say. I just wanted to tell you that. And apologize. Good luck, I'll be rooting for you."

"Thanks Francine."

With that, she slipped out of the room, leaving Desmond alone. He sighed heavily, preparing himself for the inevitable goodbye with his friends. Having to say goodbye to his parents had drained him, and he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, and hopefully when he woke up none of this would have been real.

The door opened again and Carlos, Tucker and Madison came in.

They came over and sat down, all talking over one another.

"Shard I can't believe this is happening," Madison said, her voice thick like syrup.

"This isn't fair, why did Francine have to pick you? That bitch," Tucker added halfway through.

"I should have Volunteered for you," Carlos added.

"Guys, stop!" he said, holding his arms out and silencing them. "Don't blame Francine. She only did it because she thought I was the most likely to have a chance, okay? She was just in here, she wanted to apologize. Leave her alone."

He looked over at Carlos and felt his heart sink. Should he tell him how he felt? He didn't know, he didn't think he'd have the strength for it. But if he didn't come back, would he be able to stand not letting him know how he felt? But would that just make watching him die harder?

He didn't know, and he didn't have time to think about it right then, because everyone was hugging him and telling him what they thought he should do once he got to the Capitol.

He started feeling overwhelmed as he sat there with his friends all around him, saying things he didn't want to have to think about long enough to absorb. He didn't want to have to think about the Hunger Games right then, or think about the strategies he should employ, or whatever. He just wanted to think about the last words he would say to his best friends.

Eventually, he had to tell them to stop again. "I just— I just want to say goodbye, okay?" he said, looking over at them. "I don't want to have to talk about the Games. I love you guys, but I know about all I can know about the Games. Can we just... say goodbye?"

"Sorry Shard," Tucker said. It looked like he was about to break down and disappear. "I just— I don't know what else to do besides... that."

He leaned into a group hug, shutting his eyes tightly. "I don't want to go," he whispered.

"It'll be okay," Carlos said, rubbing his back. "It'll all be okay."

Once he started to feel like his time with his friends was almost up, he looked at them all. "Can I talk to Carlos alone, you guys?" he asked.

Looking at one another, they all assented.

Everyone but Carlos left, and he looked at Desmond with a little bit of concern in his eyes.

"What is it, Shard?" he asked.

"Carlos, I..." He sighed and trailed off. He didn't know how to say this, didn't know how to get across his feelings. "I'm really sorry to have to do this," he said. "I just— in case I don't come back, I didn't want to go without telling you."

"Tell me what?"

"I— I really like you. I want to be around you all the time, I want to hold your hand— you know?"

His eyes widened slightly. "Oh," he said quietly.

Desmond immediately felt shame well up in his throat. "I'm sorry— I understand if you don't feel the same way, I just— I just wanted to make sure I told you, I'm sorry— I didn't want to make you uncomfortable—"

He was cut off as Carlos grabbed his hands. "You didn't make me uncomfortable. I just— don't know what to say. I don't even know how I _feel_. You know how it's been recently."

"No, no, yeah. I totally get it. I wasn't looking for anything, really. I just... wanted to tell you. Before I left."

"I understand."

He sighed heavily and looked down at his hands, which were still wrapped up in Carlos'.

"Thanks. I hope this doesn't make things weird."

He shook his head. "No, I don't think it does. I'm glad you told me."

Desmond hoped he wasn't just saying that for his sake.

As he stood to leave, Carlos hugged him one last time and left.

A few of the kids from the Seam came to say goodbye, and he did his best to put on a smile, to show them the Shard they knew and loved, the one who got into the deepest shit but always emerged unscathed. He reassured them, told them the Capitol couldn't put him down, but it was all he could do not to fall apart.

Soon they all left, and the Peacekeeper came to escort him from the Justice Building and to a black car. He rubbed his arms lightly, trying to calm the growing terror threatening to pull him under. He wanted to be able to control himself, wanted to wait to have whatever emotional response he needed until later, when he could be alone.

As he made his way to the car, he spotted a piece of coal on the ground and snatched it up. No one had thought to bring him anything for a token, so he supposed that this would do— it would serve as a reminder, of District Twelve, and his dissatisfaction with the place. Maybe if he could win, he could be somebody.

* * *

 **Ayana Wainwright**

 **Present day**

Ayana kicked the wall a few times, managing to put a dent in the drywall. She didn't care that her foot hurt, and didn't care that it was probably illegal to damage government property. For all anyone knew, it had been there for a while.

She was crying, but more than that, she was angry. She wanted to scream and wring Purella's neck. How could she say all those things about her? As far as she remembered, Ayana had never even _spoken_ to her, so how could she know if she was stuck up or not? Just because she was lucky? Just because she was born rich? Why did that mean she deserved this?

It just wasn't fair.

She was pacing along the floor but paused as the door opened. Her family came in, and she hugged them one by one.

"We're so sorry for this, Ayana," her aunt Misti said.

"It's not your guys' fault," she said, shaking her head. "Don't feel sorry."

Her grandmother place a hand on the top of her head and shook her own.

Her mother led her over to the couch and sat down with her. Her other relatives only stood nearby, allowing them to have their moment. Admittedly, it was a little embarrassing saying goodbye to her mom with the rest of her family standing there.

She leaned her head into her mother's shoulder, trying to forget about her aunts and grandmother there.

"You're a hard worker, Ayana, if you put your mind to it, anything's possible."

"I know," she whispered. She had some serious doubts about whether her hardworking attitude would make it so she would be able to get out of the Arena alive, but she wasn't going to bring that up to her mother while it sounded like she was about to have a mental breakdown.

She just wanted to be able to comfort her.

After her mother seemed to have her fill of affection, she leaned back and scooted away a few inches, though she kept her hand grasped firmly.

Her grandmother came over and sat down on her other side. "I want you to do your best to survive, Ayana. I want someone to come back and continue the line, so someone can run the shop when I've gone."

She internalized an eye roll. Was that all she cared about? Really, Ayana knew that it _wasn't_ , but that she also didn't really know how to express her feelings and fears for her granddaughter going into the Hunger Games. But sometimes she just wished that everyone else saw her for more than just her achievements and her possible usefulness to their own agendas. She pushed those thoughts away, though, because she didn't want to sour her mood towards her grandmother when this was likely to be the last time she would ever speak to her.

"I will," she said, looking up at her. "I'll do my best."

She told them her plans, told them about what she wanted to do, how she wanted to go about getting a group of allies, how she'd try and win over at least a few Capitolites to her side as sponsors; anything was better than facing the wall of emotions that threatened to crush her. She knew she'd have to face it eventually, with the final goodbye between her and her family, but if she could, she wanted to avoid it until she couldn't anymore.

Eventually, her time with her family was up, and there were hugs and face kisses and "I love you"s and "You're going to be amazing"s, things Ayana was sure were pretty standard. She started crying and clung to her mother until her aunts insisted that she had to leave.

Then she was alone for a few minutes, before the door opened and Wisteria came in. Ayana didn't know how she was supposed to say goodbye to her best friend, someone she had known almost as long as she had been a self-aware human being. It wouldn't be any more or less difficult than having to say goodbye to the people who raised her, but it would just be... different.

Ayana looked up as a few other friends from school came in behind her best friend.

"Hey," Wisteria said. She was chewing on her lips, a habit of hers when she was nervous.

She came over and sat with her, and the others came and sat or stood around her. She couldn't help but feel a little overcrowded. She wished that she could talk to Wisteria by herself— maybe she would ask her to stay a little while after the others.

"What are you going to do?" Lena asked.

Ayana shrugged. "What _can_ I do besides try and stay alive?"

"But you have to have a strategy," Darren protested. "If you just try and play it by ear, you won't have a chance—" Everyone shot him a look. "I mean— sorry. But you know what I mean."

She nodded slightly, though she had stopped listening. Her heart was beating too loud in her ears anyway, she couldn't really hear anyone.

"Maybe I'll try and get some allies," she said, her voice far away. "That might be my best bet."

"That would probably do you good," Wisteria said, putting her hand on her shoulder. She seemed to sense that Ayana's mind wasn't exactly present, so she stopped talking and just hugged her. It relieved some of the crushing weight on her shoulders, but it didn't do much to calm the wild getaway train that was threatening to beat its way out of her chest.

Soon, the end of the hour came, and everyone left. Wisteria stayed back, though, looking up at her with wet eyes. God, what Ayana would do to wipe those tears away, take away the grief she knew her best friend would feel having to watch her die.

"Ayana, I—" she stopped, chewed on her lip for a moment, and then continued, "I know you're going to do your best. I hope I get to see you again. You're smart, you're resourceful— you've got a chance."

She nodded. "Thanks."

"You're my best friend, I want to see you back here safe."

"I'll try, Wisteria. You know I will."

She wiped her eyes and then hugged her again, squeezing her so tightly Ayana wondered how she would ever be able to pry herself away.

She moved away as a Peacekeeper came in. "Time to go."

She looked down at Wisteria and forced a smile. "Go on, get out of here. I have a train to catch."

Her best friend choked on a sob, nodded, and fled quickly from the room.

Ayana sighed and watched her go before following the Peacekeeper out of the Justice Building. She fiddled with the beads on the bracelet she was bringing as a token, feeling the grain of the wood and the peeling orange paint, and thought of her mother. She thought of how much she would miss her.

* * *

 **A/N: This was Desmond Shard from** _**Elim9**_ **and Ayana Wainwright from** _ **dylloccupy**_ **!**

 **We're so close lads! District Thirteen is a long one but I love it so hopefully you guys will enjoy it too!**

 **I'm gonna try and get the sponsor system set up soon, so hopefully we can start focusing on that as well whilte the Capitol chapters start getting posted.**

 **Tell me what y'all think about these two kiddos! I hope you enjoyed the chapter.**


	16. The Chameleon and the Snapping Turtle

**Baia Kel**

 **Two years ago**

"Get to the tree!" Baia shouted, motioning desperately with her hand. Without even waiting for a response, she took off. The only sound she could hear was the terrible groaning and screaming of the Mutts as they pursued them, oozing that reaking black goo.

She heard Ezra following behind her and glanced over her shoulder. She saw the Career — she didn't even remember specifically what District she was from — as she came running after them.

She had made a point not to memorize anyone's names if she could avoid it, and a lot of the time their Districts escaped her mind as well. She was grateful for that, at least. She figured that if she survived this, it might help to ease the guilt.

She reached the base of the tree and put the handle of her knife between her teeth as she reached up to the lowest branch that looked like it would support her weight. She pulled herself up and looked down. Ezra was a few feet behind her, but so was the Career.

Baia took the knife out of her mouth and flung it as hard as she could at the Career. Thankfully, it buried itself in her shoulder and she stumbled, crying out.

Baia reached down and grabbed Ezra by his hands, cringing as he cried out in pain. He was still bleeding from the bite from the Mutt nearly a day ago, but that didn't matter now — all they had to do was get rid of the Career and they would be free birds, they would win.

She hauled him up onto the branch and then she climbed up some more, looking down at the ground as the Career stood back up. She yanked the knife out of her shoulder and looked up at them with murder in her eyes.

She started up the tree as well, but she was so big it took her longer than it might have otherwise.

"Keep climbing," Baia said to Ezra. Maybe if they got high enough, and she fell or something, the mutts would get her and this would be all over.

Still, though, the Career climbed. Baia supposed she shouldn't be surprised. They were trained from birth to be able to take a hit, a fall, a knife.

She continued climbing as blood spilled from her injury, her face screwed up in pain and determination. She was faster than Ezra, who cringed and gasped with every movement in his arm.

"You can't stop Ezra, come on," Baia said, reaching down to help him whenever she could.

As they neared the top of the tree, she knew they couldn't go up any higher. The branches wouldn't support their combined weight any further.

The Career didn't seem to be slowing down much, and Baia desperately looked at her friend. "Do you have a weapon?" she asked him. "We have to knock her out of the tree!"

"I don't know," he said breathlessly. He took his backpack off and opened it.

"Start throwing things!"

He nodded and took out an empty container that had once held some jerky and threw it with all his might down at the head of the Career. She threw up an arm to protect herself and seemed rather unphased.

"Come on, there has to be something!"

"Stop! I'm looking!"

Baia looked up above her and broke a branch off, even as the one they were sitting on wobbled dangerously.

She pulled it down and started swinging it at the Career, trying to jab her hands and force her to let go of the branch. At this height, depending on how she landed, it might be it for her, and they wouldn't even have to let the mutts take care of her.

She saw past the Career onto the ground, saw the oozing mutts gathering around the base of the tree. They tried to climb, howling and whimpering like injured dogs, but the stuff they secreted seemed too slippery for them to get any grip. Baia couldn't help but be relieved.

Ezra exclaimed and pulled out a canteen or thermos thing, still filled with water they had found yesterday while running away from the mutts. With all his might and a shout, he threw it at her. It hit her in the shoulder this time, knocking one of her hands loose.

"That's not enough!" Baia shouted, her voice raising an octave in panic. The Career was advancing and she would be in arm's reach of Ezra soon. Desperately, she leaned down and — thanking her parents for her long fucking legs — started kicking the Career in the face. Her boot landed square on her face and that seemed to finally knock her loose. With a scream she fell, the knife falling out of her mouth. Baia looked up at the sky, not wanting to see her hit the ground or see what the mutts would do to her.

 _Just focus on the sky Baia,_ she thought to herself. It was such a gorgeous sky. It was pink and orange nearer the horizon where the sun was slowly settling into its cradle to set, and then on the other side of the world, it was a pale blue, streaked with a few clouds. It was so pretty. She wished she could just float up into the sky.

After a minute, a canon went off, signalling the death of the Career. She heard the announcer's voice come over the invisible speakers, "Ladies and gentlemen they've done it! The Victors of the one-hundred and fifty-seventh Hunger Games! Baia Kel and Ezra Elwin!"

Ezra burst out laughing and Baia sobbed without even realizing she was doing it. She kept her eyes glued to the sky though, not wanting to see what was left of the Career girl, not wanting to ever see this Godforsaken Arena ever again.

A minute passed and a hovercraft came over them, blotting out the pink and orange and blue sky. The bottom opened and two cranes came out. They picked Baia and Ezra up gently, like a mother bird would pick her babies up, and they were lifted into the sky, into the bottom of the hovercraft.

Baia felt like she could have fainted, could have died from how relieved she was.

"Baia," Ezra said quietly, looking over at her from his place on the hovercraft floor. "We won. We survived." With a smile and a sigh, he flopped onto his back.

A pair of medics descended on them then, lifting them onto gurneys and hooking them up to machines. They started pumping blood and nutrients and water and who knew what else into their bloodstreams, ensuring that their bodies would start repairing themselves, making sure that the two of them would be nice and perfect and beautiful for the whole Capitol to see.

Baia didn't even see the bloodbags, the doctors, the starch white ceiling of the hovercraft. All she could see was that pink and orange and blue sky, and all she could hear were Ezra's words echoing through her head. _We survived. We survived. We survived._

* * *

 **Blake Venturi**

 **Two months ago**

Blake swung her legs off the edge of the porch, looking over at Maxwell as they went about fiddling with whatever weird thingamajig they'd been working on recently. The sun was basking her face in warmth and she shut her eyes against it, smiling. It was the calmest afternoon all month, and although she had had kind of a pisspoor morning, it hadn't managed to bring her down. That was what her manic phases were nowadays. Although she didn't have a lot of them, they were usually limited to her having an elevated mood and enough energy to do more things than normal. Thanks to her pills, she no longer had to deal with the endless amounts of energy that kept her fidgeting constantly until she got up and _did_ something. Of course her attention span only allowed her to _do_ something for so long until she got bored and had to move onto a different project. This, of course, ended up creating a lot of half-finished projects and hobbies that she would occasionally revisit.

"What are you doing, Max?" she asked after a long moment.

"I'm trying to reprogram this hard drive," they replied.

"I thought you were going into nuclear science."

The eye roll she received from her sibling was almost audible.

"I can't exactly build a nuclear reactor in our barn, Blake," they said.

She laughed. "Well, maybe not."

"So I'm honing my mind in other ways. If you're allowed to have a hobby for every day of the year, can't I have a few myself?"

"Nope. I took them all. There's a limited amount of hobby coupons available to the population of Panem, and I took them all up."

"Right, right." They grinned and then came and sat beside her. "I just— in case I can't get into the university for nuclear science, maybe I could get into it for computer science, or environmental engineering. I want to have backups. I want to be able to support us."

Blake opened her eyes and looked up at them. "Yeah, I know you do," she said. "But I wouldn't worry about it too much. You're _literally_ a genius. The nuclear science school would be stupid to turn you down."

Maxwell rolled their eyes again. "You obviously haven't met my competition."

"Nope, I sure haven't. But I also happen to know you, and what you're capable of. Don't sell yourself so short, Max. You'd be an asset to the country if they let you do stuff."

They sighed and looked out towards the horizon, over the wheat and corn fields that covered what little arable land that existed in District Thirteen, which had been left to Blake, Maxwell, and their brothers Rhett and Axel after their parents died in an accident two years ago. Now it was up to them to support themselves as they all grew into adulthood. Maxwell wanted to get into the nuclear science division both because they loved it and because they knew it would pay enough for them to be able to comfortably support the rest of them. Blake wouldn't have to take out any more tesserae just to provide enough food to survive. They wouldn't have to worry about how well the crops would do every year to ensure they could continue buying new shoes and supplies and seeds and fertilizer. Running a farm by themselves was a lot to do, and Maxwell had always wanted to be able to take that burden off of them, ever since their parents had been taken away.

Blake looked over at her sibling again. "Make sure you're not putting too much pressure on yourself though, dumb dumb. I know how you get sometimes."

Maxwell smiled. "Don't worry about it. I'm fine. Just studying."

She rolled her eyes at them, but nodded. "Alright. Where's Rhett and Axel?"

"Last I saw they were going out into the fields for who knows what."

She smiled. "I'm gonna go find them, make sure they're not doing drugs or something."

Maxwell snorted. "Where would anyone get drugs in District Thirteen?"

"Morphine from the hospitals."

"Okay, I stand corrected. How could anyone _afford_ drugs in District Thirteen, especially Rhett and Axel?"

She laughed. "Fair enough," she said. With that she stood and jumped off the porch, heading towards the small field of wheat their family owned.

She couldn't see them in their field, so she assumed they were trespassing somewhere else. She shook her head in amusement. They were always getting into trouble.

She went over the broken down fence that separated their property from the neighboring farms — almost all run by stuck-up Capitol-impersonating assholes, part of a small caste that emerged after the second rebellion when the bombs had finally stopped dropping. She theorized that they assumed the best way to avoid incurring the Capitol's wrath was if you ended up acting just like them — a sound assumption, to be sure, but annoying nonetheless.

She heard laughing and hushed voices from a corn field nearby and sighed. "Axel, Rhett," she called.

After a moment, the two emerged, grinning and shoving one another to the side. "I knew you'd get us caught!" Axel said, pointing an accusatory finger at his twin.

Axel and Rhett, like many twins Blake had known, were pretty much inseparable. It seemed almost like they were connected by something telepathic, and they liked to lean into such an assumption — but Blake knew it was all a part of their act to get attention.

"And what exactly are you doing in the Everetts' field?" she asked, putting her hands on her hips.

"Looking for corn to steal, obviously," Rhett said, rolling his eyes.

"You know if they catch you, the Peacekeepers are going to flog you, right?"

Axel shrugged. "We're willing to take the risk. Long live the Resistance!"

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, you two, back to the house. We have to get dinner started soon."

Despite the fact that she was almost ten years younger than them, sometimes she felt like she was the mother in this relationship. They could be mature enough most of the time, but they often preferred to have a little bit of fun in between all the "meddlesome adulting" they had to do.

As they came back to the house, Blake saw Axel moving about in the kitchen.

Although they struggled more often than not, and had to choose between eating enough in the winter and selling all their crops, the four of them managed to get along alright. They weren't children anymore, after all, and so they had to figure out how to make their way in this world sooner or later. Blake went inside and started helping Maxwell make dinner while Rhett and Axel did some chores.

Blake missed the times when they had her parents around to support them, and she missed them every day. Her whole family had always been pretty tight, and when their parents died it just brought the siblings closer together.

* * *

 **Baia Kel**

 **Present day**

Baia rose early on Reaping Days — really, one wouldn't exactly _call_ it rising early. One generally had to sleep in order to rise.

But, she didn't like giving off that she didn't sleep the night before the Reapings. Everyone who mattered knew.

So she woke up, made herself breakfast, and took her damn time drinking her coffee. She hated the stuff, had always hated it, but the nuttiness and the heat helped to ground her to the real world. Days like this, she needed something that reminded her that she was a _person_.

Her parents would sleep for another few hours, most likely, since the Reaping wasn't until the afternoon, so she was glad to have the house to herself. It was nice to have quiet sometimes.

After she had thoroughly exhausted her cup of coffee, she showered and dressed in her very best, and then mentally prepared herself for the weeks ahead of her. She had been a nervous wreck for ages. The thought of being a mentor for the first time made her want to claw her eyes out. She _knew_ she would get attached to the Tributes, and that she would, more than likely, have to watch them die in the Games, which would just make her guilt and remorse all the fresher.

Still, though, she forced her thoughts of impending doom away and instead focused on making herself busy. That was how she had coped for the past two years— it wouldn't fail her now.

She left her house and went next door to Ezra's. She knocked and then opened it using the key he had given her.

"Z?" she called, shutting the door behind her. "It's me. You awake?"

"Of course I'm awake, Baia," he said, emerging from the bathroom, a towel around his shoulders. "I hardly _slept_ "

"Nightmares?"

"What else?"

If there was one thing she could be grateful for, it was that she didn't get the nightmares— or at least, not as bad as Ezra did.

"Even if he was asleep, you really think I'd let him sleep in?" Lyla, Ezra's girlfriend, emerged from the nursery, baby Edie in her arms.

Baia smiled at her. "Can't get anything past you, can he Lyla?"

"No ma'am."

She returned her attention to her friend. "Have you eaten yet?" she asked.

"Not hungry."

"You should eat something, you know."

"She's right, Ezra."

" _Thank you_ , dear."

Rolling her eyes, Lyla returned to the nursery.

"Okay, well, after the Reaping, you'd better fucking eat something, alright kid?"

"Kid? Baia, I'm three years older than you."

"And? You think that matters to me? Hell no dude."

He rolled his eyes and sat at the small island counter. "So what are you up to this morning?" he asked, looking over at her.

"Once I'm done wasting my time around here I'm gonna go see Grayson, and then go to the home and hand out some food. These kids are gonna be terrified enough today without having to worry about an empty stomach."

"You know you don't have to do this all the time."

"Are you saying I _shouldn't_ go out and help people?"

"No, of course not, it's just—" he sighed. "Look, I know I say this a lot, and I know we deal with our shit in different ways. But... You don't have anything you have to make up for. There's nothing you have to _do_ to recompense for what you did in the Games. You _had_ to do that to survive, that's how they work. If you let yourself get into this spiral of guilt, then the Capitol wins. Oak wins."

"Tell that to the families of the kids we killed, Z," she retorted, not looking at him.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Sometimes you're impossible to talk to."

"Listen, Ezra, can we not do this today? I'm dealing with it. I'm under a lot of stress today just— let me handle it in my way."

"No, I know. Of course Baia. I'm not saying don't do it. I'm just saying take care of yourself."

"Who else will?" She smiled at him, allowing the tension to dissipate. Whenever they got into these pseudo-arguments, they always evaporated almost as quickly as they appeared.

That was how close they were nowadays. The understood each other in a way very few people could. Trauma did that, she supposed.

She and Ezra sat in his pea-green living room for an hour or two, talking about anything _but_ the Reaping. Well, really, Baia did most of the talking. While she went out and tried to give back to work through her pain, Ezra did the opposite; he drew into himself, he refused to talk to anyone or work on anything that might give him any happiness. It was up to Baia and Lyla to convince him to do things, to give him new projects to work on. He loved to build, even if he didn't _need_ a new bench, she oftentimes talked him into building one, telling him he could donate it or something, or take it apart and build something else out of it. It didn't really matter, so long as it kept his hands and mind occupied.

Once she realized how late it was getting to be, she stood. "I'll see you on the stage," she said.

"Bye. Tell Grayson I said hi."

She nodded and waved. She called "Bye Lyla!" into the back part of the house before leaving. She walked the admittedly large distance from the Victor's Village to Grayson's house, where he had lived all his life, next to Baia's childhood home.

Grayson was a funny old man who was basically a grandfather to Baia. When her parents were working to help feed her, she would stay at his house. Even after she had won the Hunger Games, he was one of the few people who didn't treat her much differently. It was a welcome relief. He had been the first person she had come out to, and, while she loved her parents, he was probably the person to whom she was closest.

As she came up on the run down house, she saw his thin bent form in the living room window. He looked up and saw her, and immediately his eyes lit up. She couldn't help but smile as her heart swelled with love. No matter what shit she had to deal with, how miserable Reaping Day made her, Gray was always a light in her life.

He came to the front door and down the front path to meet her, opening his arms. "Well if it isn't my favorite person in the whole world."

"I'm not your favorite and you know it, Gray," she said as she embraced him. Despite his age, he had a hug that could crack ribs if he set his mind to it.

"You're right," he assented. "I could never pick a favorite. Come on in, have you eaten? I've got biscuits in the oven."

"No, no, that's okay. I ate when I got up."

"Oh, don't play modest. You know you want one of my biscuits. I remember, when you were a little girl, you wouldn't leave my house without having a biscuit."

She smiled and gave up. He was the type who would force feed her a biscuit, and she'd rather avoid a fight with him. "Alright, alright. Yeah, I'll have a biscuit."

She followed him into the kitchen and sat down, watched him as he meandered around the kitchen.

"So how are you this morning, kiddo?" he asked.

She shrugged. "It's Reaping Day. How's anyone?"

"Well, fair enough I suppose. Those bastards just won't let us sleep, huh?"

She shook her head. "That doesn't make any sense."

"No? Well it did in my head."

He turned to the oven and opened it, stooping and pulling a baking sheet from inside.

He put one on a plate and set it in front of her. "There you go," he said. "Still steaming."

"Thanks Gray," she said, smiling.

She let the biscuit cool for a while before taking a bite. It was always nostalgic when she had some of Grayson's biscuits— he was right. When she was younger she'd always insist on him baking some.

He hummed to himself as he cooked a few eggs and a strip of bacon. She marveled at his good humor, despite the dreariness of the day. That was always something she had loved about him— he always seemed content, even when things were going poorly. She had only ever seen him cry or get angry a few times. "I'm too old for any exhausting emotions," he would always say.

"You should come over and have dinner sometime. Maybe when Shelly's got some time off at the hospital."

"Good idea," she said, smiling at him. "I might do that."

He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled. "You're a good girl, Baia. You're growing into a wonderful young woman. I hope you know how proud we all are."

"I have an inkling," she said, smiling back at him.

After she had breakfast with Grayson — and after two more biscuits reluctantly eaten — she stood up. "I'll have to leave on the train right after the Reaping, probably," she said to him. "So I'll see you when I come back, after all this nastiness is over."

He nodded and hugged her. "I know this is gonna be hard, mentoring for the first time," he said quietly to her. "But it'll be okay. You just have to be strong, and everything will turn out alright. And you can't blame yourself for the things the world gives you. Remember, just because it seems like there's a storm cloud hovering over your head — and only yours — there's always going to be someone there to splash in the puddles with you."

She smiled and shut her eyes, feeling her throat swelled up. "I know. Thanks Gray."

She left his house and went down into the poorer area of the center of the District. She had brought a basket of rolls and strips of ham that she had prepared the night before, and whenever she met someone on the street, she asked if they had eaten that morning. If they said anything but "Yes," she would immediately hand them a roll and some ham, despite any arguments they might try and put up. Although she was in a terrible mood, which probably made her look less than approachable, she forced herself to smile and reassure, to be the kindness she wished she could have every Reaping Day.

She went to the children's home and went inside. She was well-known by many of the staff as well as the kids. A lot of the orphans lauded her as the woman who got rid of the old patriarch Mr. Dougan, and the woman who came and brought food and clothes to them. The children's homes were poorly funded across all of Panem, and even though District Thirteen wasn't the poorest of them all, she knew that their reintroduction to Panem seventy-five years ago hadn't been the smoothest. Even now people were dropping like flies caused by illnesses resulting from the bombings and whatever else the Capitol was doing to them.

She got an ID card with her name on it and went through the home, poking her head into rooms and handing out breakfast to everyone. Although being around children tired her out, it was nice to see faces smiling on Reaping Day, despite all odds.

She waved and wished every kid of Reaping Age luck as she left, and as she emerged back onto the dismal street, basket now empty, she took a long breath. People were starting to come from their houses, stores were starting to close, and people were starting to meander towards the square. They were the early arrivals, the people wanting to get a good place to stand or get into the registration line early, or people who just couldn't stand to wait any longer.

Baia knew she was expected in the square in a little under a half an hour, but she couldn't be bothered to care about her deadlines if she tried. Let the Capitol try and parade her around all it liked, she wasn't going to play along.

She had realized, after becoming a Victor, that it came with a certain amount of political sway. Despite the fact that she and Ezra hadn't been anyone's particular favorites during their Games, once they had won, they became the apple of the Capitol's eye. She had used her newfound fame to campaign for improvements to the standard of living across Panem, and although it rarely got more than a few minutes of fame, it had caught on with some of the more progressive minor bureaucrats in the Capitol, so it seemed, at least for a while, that something might change.

She was just glad she had managed to avoid some of the more... unsavory post-Games hobbies some of the Victors took part in— or, if rumor was to be believed, coerced into. She was perfectly happy just living in the Victor's Village, doing what she could to help people, and try to move past her experiences. That was about all she _could_ do. She was just a kid from District Thirteen, there wasn't much that set her apart.

She made the walk home, going as slow as physically possible, and deposited her basket in the kitchen. Her parents were sitting in the living room with coffee, and looked up when she came in.

"Productive morning?" her mother asked.

She nodded. "You coming?" she asked.

"Yes, yes, just let us finish our coffee."

It was a few minutes before everyone was ready to go, and Baia couldn't help but sigh.

"Don't look so glum, sugar-plum," her dad said, putting his hand on her head.

She looked up at him and raised her eyebrows. He tried, but she wasn't really in the mood for his fatherly affection. "How am I supposed to be happy?" she asked. "It's Reaping Day. I'm going to have to follow two poor kids to the Capitol and try and d my best to keep them from dying— futilely. Forgive me for not jumping for joy."

Knowing he had struck a nerve, he removed his hand. "Sorry, Baia," he said. "I just— I just want you to be able to get through all this horribleness, and you know me— I always want to _fix_ things."

"I know, dad. I know. Sorry. Thanks. I'm just... this is all horrible in a lot of ways, and it's hard for me not to lash out."

"I understand pumpkin."

The rest of the walk to the square was made in relative silence. Gradually, the streets grew louder, more crowded. Finally, they emerged into the square. She waved goodbye to her parents and went to the stage. Judging by how ruffled the Escort's feathers seemed to be, she was late.

The Escort, Adrienn Antigone, was the same one from Baia's games. Although he had never necessarily done anything _wrong_ — save for the general douchebaggery and idiocy of most of the Capitol citizens — Baia had a hard time liking _anyone_ involved in the Hunger Games. Sure, he was no Aeneas Ardensill, but he was still pretty insufferable.

"Where have you _been_?" he demanded in a harsh whisper as Baia mounted the stage via the side stairs. "The Mayor was about to start _without you_!"

"Out and about," she replied, shrugging.

"Do you know how bad it would look if we started the Reaping without one of our _Mentors_?"

She shrugged. "You would've survived, I'm sure. Now would you stop squawking in my ear?"

She brushed past him and sat by Ezra. "You okay?" she asked, looking over at him. His shoulders were bent inwards, his hands awkwardly clutching at one another.

He nodded tightly. "Just— want this to be over," he whispered.

She nodded and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked over at the other Mentor, the man who would be retiring this year. Abdul Callahan won his games with nothing more than a rock. He was far from the Capitol's sweetheart, since he openly hated them and let them all know— to a point, at least. He never put his family or himself in any real danger. Baia thought he was a badass.

He stared forward with cold eyes, long since resigned to his lot as a Victor.

If there were literally anyone else, he probably wouldn't Mentor at all. He said he was just glad he wouldn't be mentoring alone this year. The Capitol had given Baia and Ezra their allotted two years to get over their trauma or whatever, so now there was no avoiding it. Baia had volunteered to be the Victor instead of Ezra, because she knew that he was still struggling with his trauma.

She rolled her eyes upwards as the Mayor approached the podium.

"Good morning, District Thirteen," he announced. His voice was probably the driest in the fucking country, and every year his speech put practically everyone to sleep.

It was a subject of much gossip and argument among the citizens of the District whether or not the mayor was still a paid plant by the Capitol like it was just after the Rebellion. It was mostly a joke, but there were a few hardcore conspirators who were _convinced_ that he was secretly a Capitolite who had been planted to ensure that no more issues arose in the District.

Baia shut her eyes and leaned her head back as she listened to the Treaty of Treason, trying to ignore the heartbeat that was threatening to tear out of her chest.

She didn't want to look into the eyes of the two new Tributes, the two new sacrifices to the ever-hungry jaws of the Capitol.

If she had to look into their eyes, see their tears and their hopes, the silent pleas of "save me," she didn't know if she'd be able to handle it. She had known of plenty of Mentors over the years who snapped after a year or two, who committed suicide or fell into drugs or alcohol, or just went plain crazy. There were lots for whom reliving the same terror over and over again, watching children murdered in the same way they had murdered others, was just too much. Baia was afraid that was going to be her. She didn't have any choice, though; she wouldn't let Ezra go through this, she didn't care what would happen to her.

As the Treaty of Treason ended, Adrienn stood up and retook center stage.

"As a reminder to everyone of the rules of the Quarter Quell: the person whose name I call will come up to the stage and be asked to choose another person of their age group. That will be the Tribute. Volunteers will be allowed just like any other year. Shall we get started?"

He went over to the men's bowl and dug his hand around for a long moment, before drawing out a slip of paper. He unfurled it as he made his way back over to the microphone and announced, "David Crestmont!"

A guy emerged from the seventeens and came up to the stage. His chin was high as he approached, and Baia couldn't help but curl her lips in disgust. How could anyone feel anything but overwhelming shame and guilt? How could anyone feel _happy_ to be sending one of their peers into a deathmatch they were almost sure to lose? There was a _very_ short list of things that a person could do to deserve that.

"Do you have a name?" Adrienn asked.

He nodded. "Blake Venturi."

A moment of stillness, and then a girl emerged from near the back of the section.

She flipped the guy the bird as she came up the steps. Baia raised her eyebrows. That took guts to do in front of the cameras.

"Any Volunteers?" Adrienn asked.

Nope.

"Assholes," she heard Blake muttered under her breath.

It was all Baia could do not to break out laughing.

"Alright, now the ladies!" He repeated the ridiculous ritual and said, "Mariank Grace!"

Another seventeen-year-old came up, looking absolutely bewildered.

"Do you have a name for someone to replace you?"

Mariank looked around for a moment, even over her shoulder at the Mayor and the Victors. Her eyes landed on Baia and then returned front.

"Um… Baia… Baia Kel."

 _What_.

Baia looked at Adrienn, staying in her place. She was waiting for him to tell Mariank that she couldn't pick a Victor, that she had to choose someone else, but after looking flustered and bewildered, looking around as if someone would appear and tell him what to do, he gestured to Baia.

"Um… _excuse me_."

"Please don't cause a scene, Baia," he pleaded.

Mariank was long gone, all but fleeing back to her section.

"Alright, _fine_ , I guess."

She went up to the microphone and leaned over into it, "Pretty sure you can't pick a Victor, but whatever. Let me go back in, I guess."

At that moment she was too pissed to think about the fact that she had just said that into the microphone, which would be broadcast live to the Capitol and replayed for the next week and a half over and over again.

How could they let this happen? How was this even _allowed_? It was ridiculous— it was _bullshit._

"Um— any Volunteers?" Adrienn asked.

Silence. Crickets. Nothing.

This was _such_ bullshit.

"Well. I present to you, Panem, the Tributes from District Thirteen! Blake Venturi and Baia Kel. Shake hands."

Baia looked up into her District Partner's eyes for a moment as they shook hands and then went quickly off the stage.

This couldn't fucking be happening.

 _No way_ were they going to send her in again. Fuck that.

* * *

 **Blake Venturi**

 **Present Day**

Blake looked up over her shoulder as the door swung open, almost knocking against the wall.

Maxwell, Rhett, and Axel came in, and Max shut the door behind them.

She took a deep breath, letting them all but crush her as they wrapped her up.

"This is totally bullshit," Rhett said. His voice was high, strained— Blake knew he was fighting through tears.

Of course, knowing _that_ just made her own throat close.

Max, who had always been more emotional than their brothers, had a few tears trickling down their face that they didn't bother to wipe away. "First mom and dad, now you," they whispered, stroking her hair.

"Shut up, Max, don't say that," she said, shaking her head.

They didn't speak, but she knew well enough what they were thinking. Logical Max, always thinking as objectively as possible, _knew_ what her odds of surviving were, even if her District Partner was a Victor, was supposed to be a Mentor. It was a wild fluke that she and Ezra had won two years ago, there was almost no chance. _There's no use in denying it,_ they would be thinking, _denial will only prolong the pain._

She knew they didn't want it to be true any more than anyone else did, but they couldn't help but analyze the situation logically, even when logic hurt.

She didn't say anything about it though. The silence was preferable to facing that reality; maybe she could ride the shock, let it take her as long as it could, so that she didn't fall apart and have a panic attack on the train. She needed to watch the recaps, needed to know who they were up against. She couldn't rely on her District Partner— who knew if she would even want to enter into an alliance with her anyway.

As if reading her mind, Axel looked down at her. "You have to make friends with Baia Kel. She's your best bet. The Careers have training, but she's got experience. She was good enough to get out two years ago, so she might be good enough now."

"I'll try," she said. "But she doesn't really seem like the type to make friends."

"She made friends with Ezra, didn't she?" he replied. "You never know. Just— be charming."

Blake raise her eyebrows. "Charming? Have you _met_ me?"

"Yep. It'll be a challenge."

She started laughing, but cut it short as she remembered: this was not a situation one could laugh about.

There wasn't any more talk about the Games after that. Instead, there were lots of sympathetic words exchanged, words that usually went unsaid in their family. Usually they didn't _need_ to tell each other how much they loved each other.

Soon, Maxwell stood. "Other people will probably want to come and see you," they said. "We'll... we believe in you, Blake."

"Thanks Max." She hugged them all, one by one, one last time, and waved as they left.

The next person to come was probably the closest thing she had to a friend: Monty Lewis.

He was a friend of Maxwell's, and just happened to be one of the people she had gotten close to. It was hard for her to make connections with people anymore, while she struggled with her bipolar disorder. It seemed like no one besides her family was willing to put forth the effort required to hang around her. Monty was one of the few, and she sometimes thought that it might be because he was insufferable in his own ways too. He was always the one she could count on to bring her up when she was feeling down, even if she didn't want to be brought up— or didn't feel like she deserved it.

Immediately he came over and hugged her, picking her up and spinning her around. She couldn't help but smile, though the spin seemed so out of place it almost made her nauseous.

"This is the worst shit," he said to her. "Are you doing okay?"

She raised her eyebrows at him.

He rolled his eyes back. "You know what I mean." He tipped her face back and forth. "You're not crying, or hyperventilating, you seem almost... calm."

"It's the shock," she said. "I'm probably going to freak out on the way to the train station."

"Welp. Hope they have trauma blankets." He smiled at her and she looked away, fighting a smile.

 _Nothing to smile about,_ she chastised herself.

"Who was the asshole who picked you?" he asked her.

"Just some guy I pissed off a few years ago. I don't even remember what we fought about."

"That's bullshit, man. What the hell is wrong with him. Surely you're not the only person he's ever fought with in his life, why pick you?"

She shrugged. "Probably just the first person who came to his head. Who knows."

He sighed, finally seeming to give up on his attempts at comforting her. "You know what you have to do?" he asked.

"I'll see if I can get into an alliance with Baia, she seems like my best bet."

"That'll be good. What about everything else?"

"I've watched enough Games to know what you're supposed to do."

"Well, I won't waste my time preaching at you about training or anything."

"That would be appreciated." She let out a breath and looked up at him. "Thanks."

"Of course kiddo."

"No, not just for that— I mean, thanks for everything. You've always been like a third brother to me."

"Don't get all sentimental on me now Blake," he said.

She shook her head. "I mean it. And I didn't want to go without telling you that."

"Listen, you're not going to die in there. You're going to come back and live a full life, like you deserve. The universe isn't that cruel, they wouldn't do that to your family."

She shrugged. "I've pretty much given up on the universe taking pity on me."

He sighed and ruffled her hair. "You're a pessimist, Blake."

"Thanks, it's the mental illness."

He smiled and nudged her with his shoulder. "Asshole."

Soon, Monty left as well.

Blake wasn't sure if anyone else was going to come and see her, and she entertained the thought, briefly, that no one else cared enough. But then the door opened, and she saw two people whom she hadn't been expecting, but also wasn't surprised to see, come in. It was Leona and Reynold, her exes, the only exes she had in the world.

They had dated two years ago, before Blake's bipolar disorder caused them all to drift apart. Reynold was already distant before leaving because he had been dealing with family issues, but her struggles with mental illness put a lot of strain on the relationship. Though the breakup hadn't been _bad_ necessarily, it was one of those things where they were just too distant to even be friends afterwards.

She didn't know how she felt, seeing them there, the first time they'd speak in a year and a half.

"Hi Blake," Leona said. Her voice was quiet, almost apologetic. Did she feel guilty for being here? For taking up her time?

"Hi," she replied.

"We saw you— well, what I mean is—" Reynold sighed, trying to collect himself. He had always been notoriously bad with words. "We're sorry this is happening."

"Thanks. Seems like everyone's sorry about it."

"Listen, I know we haven't talked in a while— I don't want you to feel like we hate you. We don't." He stumbled again and gave up.

"We wanted to just come and tell you— while we had the chance. We didn't want you to go into the Arena thinking that we didn't care about you, that our relationship didn't mean anything— just in case... you know."

Blake looked up at them. What did she feel about them? She didn't know. She had been in a low point for a few weeks, ever since the Quell was announced, and although her medication helped, it couldn't stave off the feelings completely. She'd probably be able to understand what she felt better once her moods switched again. Who knew?

"Thanks," she said after a long moment. Too long.

They glanced at one another, obviously fishing for something to say, something to round out the conversation, something to make this conversation less painfully awkward.

"Do you need anything?" Leona asked.

She shook her head. "What could you give me?"

She shrugged. "Support?"

Had they been this bad at communicating when they had been dating? Blake didn't remember.

"I'm fine," she said. "Thanks. You guys— you guys can go now, if you want."

She frowned. "No, we can stay. At least until you have to go to the train. You shouldn't be alone."

"Unless you want to be," Reynold stepped in.

She almost cracked a smile. He was so useless. "Thanks," she said again.

They didn't sit, hardly even moved; they made idle conversation, and they both asked at least twice more if she was okay.

By the time the Peacekeeper came in and told them to go, Blake was about ready to kick them out herself.

As she left the Justice Building, she looked around, as if seeing the drab houses, the big factories, the hospitals and research labs, for the first time. This would probably be the last time she saw the District. She couldn't even muster up the energy to be sad about that.

As she got into the car, she looked over at Baia. Wrapped tightly in her hands was an orange cord.

She looked away as the Victor looked over at her.

"Are you afraid?" she asked quietly.

Blake shrugged. "I dunno yet. My feelings haven't finished loading."

* * *

 **Baia Kel**

 **Present Day**

She stalked to the goodbye room, her arms crossed. This was bullshit. She was never supposed to have to worry about sitting in this room again, _that was part of the deal._

She turned around as the door was flung open. It was her parents.

"This isn't allowed, is it?" her mother immediately asked, going to her. "This shouldn't be allowed. You're a Victor. Victors names aren't even _in_ the bowls!"

"Well, this is a _special occasion_ , mom," Baia replied. She ran a hand through her hair, sighing.

"Baia, please," her father said. His voice was quiet, pleading.

She sighed. "Sorry," she said. "I'm just— this is the worst possible outcome. This is the _nightmare_ scenario. I wasn't happy about being a Mentor, but I sure as hell didn't want to be a _Tribute_. What's the Capitol going to say?" She was banking on the outcry, on the general populous of the Capitol protesting so hard against seeing their Victor, one of the people they cherished and paraded around and loved, sent back into the Arena.

But deep down, she knew that was a foolish thing to hope for. The Capitol would be _drooling_ over this drama, the poor manipulated sods they were. This would likely launch her into the limelight, a place she was less than happy to be.

"Hopefully they'll do something," her mother said. "I think I saw Adrienn communicating with someone in the Capitol a moment ago when we came in."

Baia nodded. "Just in case nothing happens, though," she said, looking up at them. "We should probably say goodbye."

They all hugged tightly, and Baia flashed back to her first time doing this, when she was Reaped. It was only two years ago, it hadn't quite been allowed to evaporate out of vivid memory. She could still feel the horrible aching emptiness, the assumption that she'd never see them again. This time, she didn't know _how_ to feel. She figured that she probably _would_ die this time, her luck wasn't that good, but at the same time, she knew it was _possible_. It was possible for a little kid from District Thirteen to win the Hunger Games. Maybe all hope wasn't lost.

At that point, that was about all that was keeping her afloat.

She sat down with her parents, both of them close at her shoulder. The first time they had done this, there had been talk of strategy, of what to do and what not to do— no need for that this time around. She knew all the stops, had all the experience. She knew how to impress the Gamemakers, how to manipulate the crowds. She had let Ezra be the sociable one the last time, and while she didn't know if Blake was at all sociable, she knew how to be the Capitol's sweetheart. Maybe if she could emulate Ezra's charisma, seem as happy and friendly and lovable as he did, she'd be able to milk the drama generated by her Reaping for all it was worth, and actually get some sponsors this time.

Instead of talking about strategy, her parents decided they wanted to reminisce. It was so weird, listening to them talk about memories. As far as Baia could remember her childhood, her parents hadn't ever been a real presence. Of course she saw them, she knew them, they fed her occasionally and bought her presents. They loved her and accepted her when she came out. Her dad was always trying to please her, in whatever weird ways he could, she knew her mom would die for her, but she felt like she hardly _knew_ them. It wasn't like with Grayson.

Maybe that was why it was so easy to listen to them talking about their pasts, knowing that this was a desperate attempt to cement the future. But she couldn't help but feel like she was experiencing all of these memories from the third person, like she hadn't been there herself.

Soon, they stood. "There's probably a lot of other people here to see you," her dad said. "We should get going. But we'll see you. We'll— we'll be cheering for you, sweetheart. We were the last time, and we will be this time. Don't forget."

"I won't dad. Thanks."

"We love you, Baia."

"I love you too." She chewed hard on her lip and grasped at her knuckles. She couldn't help the lump rising in her throat, begging for release in the form of tears, sobs. But she couldn't cry. She had to look strong and angry. She had set up an aesthetic for herself, and that was how she would have to stay— until the interviews, at least, and then she could come out of her shell, and show the Capitol just how lovable she was.

Ugh, the thought of that made her want to vomit.

She hugged her parents one last time and then they were gone.

Next, of course, came Grayson and his daughter, Shelly.

His old gray eyes were wet, and he seemed close to falling over. He had never been frail, even as he advanced in age. Having a good standard of living for most of his later life thanks to his daughter allowed him to maintain most of his strength. But now... he looked as if a gust of wind might pick him up and carry him away.

She went to him and led him over to the couch.

"I'm not an old man, Baia," he said, a meak attempt at an argument.

"Shut up and let me help you."

As he sat down, her sighed and looked around. "After you came back, I comforted myself knowing I probably wouldn't ever have to sit in this room again. Once was quite enough for me, thank you very much."

"I know," she said. "It's bullshit. I shouldn't have to go in."

"Well there's nothing we can do about it," he said. "Except give them hell." He smiled at her in the coy way only old men could as she laughed and leaned into him.

"I'll definitely do that."

After a moment, she sighed and leaned back, shutting her eyes. "I don't know what will happen if I go back," she whispered. "I don't know if I— I don't know if I'll be able to take it."

"You're going to make it," he assured her. "I know it'll be hard. Those ghosts following you around are going to try and pull you down but I don't want you to let them. You've got so much to come back to, Baia. I said it here, two years ago, do you remember? So many people fucking love you, child. I don't want you to get so caught up in feeling sorry for yourself, or feeling like you have to die just to make up for the couple of kids you killed, that you forget that you're allowed to continue on living."

She sighed. "Thanks Gray."

"I mean it. Baia, look at me."

After a moment, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. He was staring at her fiercely, fiercer than she had ever seen.

"Do not give up on yourself. You're only seventeen. Do what you need to."

She nodded, knowing that to deny it anymore would only devolve into a repetitive argument with both of them insisting the same things over and over again.

She looked up at Shelly. "Are you okay?" she asked her.

Shelly raised her eyebrows. "You're asking if I'm okay?" she asked incredulously. "Baia, are _you_ okay?"

"What do you think? Of course I'm not."

She sighed and shook her head. Anyone who spent enough time around her knew that when she snapped like that, she usually didn't mean to be rude. She was just... angry, and sometimes it bled out into her interactions with other people.

"Baia, listen. You heard what my dad said. I'm going to second it. And I know your parents and Ezra and Lyla all think the same thing, and all the kids you fed today, and all the kids whose transitions you've funded, and all the people you've helped want you to come back. You _deserve_ to come back, just as much as every other kid that's going into that Arena with you."

That was just the problem though. Every other kid _did_ deserve to come back, so who was she to decide who was less important than her? When did self-interest end and morality begin?

Knowing her insistence wasn't getting her any further than her father's was, she sat down on the other side of Baia and hugged her tightly. "I have faith in you, kid. I've known you since you were born. I've seen you fight, I've seen you struggle. You're capable of it, and more. Just remember that, and do your best."

"Thanks Shelly."

As they stood to leave, Gray stood for a moment looking at Baia, as if drinking her in so he'd never forget her face.

"If there ever comes a day when we can't be together," he said quietly, "keep me in your heart and I'll stay there forever."

Her eyes filled with tears. It was a phrase she was familiar with, something he said every time he knew they wouldn't see one another for a while. He had said it to her in her first goodbyes too.

"I will," she promised, cupping his face. "Thanks."

He kissed her forehead. "And remember," he said. "Give 'em hell."

She nodded, gasping for a moment as she tried to contain her tears, and waved as he left.

Immediately after them came Ezra. Following behind him was Lyla, and in her arms was little Edie, fast asleep.

She stood near the front of the room, probably to avoid waking the baby, as Ezra wrapped his arms tightly around her. "No, no, no, no," he said quietly. "This isn't fair."

She leaned into him. "I know," she said quietly. "I know."

He pulled away and looked down at her, his eyes full of panic, the terror of an animal backed into a corner with no way out. "They can't let you go in, there has to be someone else, anyone else. You're a Victor, it's not supposed to _be_ this way."

"I don't think anyone's going to swoop in and save me, Z," she said.

"This isn't fair," he repeated, shaking his head. It was all anyone could say, it seemed.

But that was just it, wasn't it. _None_ of this was fair. It wasn't fair that she and Ezra had been Reaped two years ago, it wasn't fair that Blake had been Reaped, the _Hunger Games_ weren't fair. Their _lives_ weren't fair. This was only the most recent in a long line of atrocities.

"You have to win again, Baia, please. I can't do this on my own."

She looked up at him. "Don't worry about me, Ezra. It'll be easier that way."

He leveled his eyes with hers, frowning. "I know what you're thinking. I know exactly what you're thinking. You had better not go and sacrifice yourself for one of the other Tributes— that's not— that's not how it works, understand me? You don't get to throw away your life because you feel guilty."

He was talking through tears, but he sounded _angry_. She had only seen him angry a handful of times since they met, it was weird. She knew he wasn't angry at her, just frustrated and protective and scared, but he still managed to see right through her, right into the very depths of her brain, see what she had been planning to do since she walked off that stage.

She wasn't going to give him a response. He'd know if she was lying, anyway, and she wasn't going to change her mind. It seemed a pretty decent trade-off to her.

"You know what to do, we both know it. You've been down this road before. This time, you should try and be likeable, be the Capitol's sweetheart. Be the Tribute they want to love and cheer for. You know how to manipulate them."

"I'm not you, Ezra, I don't know if I _can_." She had been racking her brain, trying to figure out how exactly she was going to mimic her friend, how she was going to put on a show of sociability. She had never been particularly sociable, dysphoria during her early teen years making her reluctant to take part in any social activity, and then trauma from the Games only made it worse. She was always happier in a quieter situation where there wasn't any pressure to present herself in a certain way. She wasn't a good actor, how could she be expected to make everyone love her?

After a moment, Lyla stepped forward. She was like an older sister to her, and Baia found herself once again fighting down tears. She took a breath and hugged her awkwardly, trying to avoid the baby.

"We'll all be cheering for you, Baia," she said quietly, "know that."

"I do know," she said. "I'll do everything I can to make sure you're not cheering in vain."

She wondered if everyone said these things in their goodbyes. A lot of them went into the Arena with the expectation that the only way they were coming out was in a coffin— did everyone insist to their loved ones that they were coming back? Did everyone reassure them, as if that would change anything?

She didn't know, she had never asked. Really, she didn't _want_ to know.

Ezra came over to her, holding out a necklace. Baia immediately recognized it. It was his token from the first time they went into the Games.

"I know this isn't the last time I'll be seeing you," he said quietly, "but I want to give this to you. Hopefully it'll bring you good luck."

She looked at it and then up at him. She smiled at him, though she knew there was no happiness in it. She took the necklace and put it around her neck. "Thanks, Z."

He hugged her again. "I'll see you on the train, okay?"

She nodded. "See you."

She hugged Lyla and kissed Edie's soft forehead, before watching them leave.

She didn't know how long it had been, how much of her hour she had left, but she figured it couldn't be that long.

Next, Penelope came in. She and Baia had been best friends before she went into the Games, though they had drifted apart after she came back. Penelope couldn't ever seem to think of Baia in the same way, after having watched her kill people. Baia didn't really blame her, necessarily, but it still hurt to watch someone she had cared about so much drift away. They were still friends, of course, they just weren't as close as they had been before, didn't talk as often as maybe they ought to.

"I'm so sorry this is happening," she said. It was about the same thing she had said the first time around too, only this time she was a lot less emotional.

Now, she seemed sympathetic. Sad, for sure, but it was a controlled kind of sad, the kind of sad you could breathe through.

Baia didn't know _what_ she was feeling, exactly.

"It's okay," she said. "I'd rather it be me than someone else. I probably have the best chance out of anyone."

"Doesn't mean it's not horrible."

She shrugged.

"You're a Victor, Baia, you already have more advantages than most of the other Tributes. You've got a fighting chance. You know that right?"

"Yeah. That's _basically_ all anyone's said to me all morning. I'm starting to get an inkling."

For the briefest of moments, frustration flashed across Penelope's face. She wasn't as used to Baia's gruffness as everyone else, of course she was annoyed.

"I don't have anything really to say. I just... felt like I needed to come. I want to say goodbye."

"Because you know as well as I do that I'm probably not coming back?"

"Don't say that, Baia, it's not true."

"Come on. How likely do you think it is that I win _twice_? Ezra and I barely made it out the last time."

"If you start thinking like that, Baia, you're as good as dead." She shut her mouth quickly, realizing what she had just said. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she replied. "You're right."

"No, no, it was unnecessary— it's just... I don't want you to despair. All hope isn't lost, don't get into that mindset."

"I'm fine, Penelope. Look at me." She gestured to herself. "Fine."

She sighed. "You really have changed," she said quietly.

"Yeah. Going into the Hunger Games does that to people."

"It's not an excuse to take it out on me."

"Sorry, okay? I'm having kind of a tough fucking morning."

She looked away. "I don't want to do this," she said. "I don't want _this_ to be how we say goodbye to each other."

Guilt washed over her. "Me neither," she said. "I'm sorry. I know I can be... tough to deal with."

"It's okay." A pause. "I know we're not as close as we used to be, Baia. After everything happened... things just changed, I guess. But you're still my best friend. We've known each other forever. I want you to know that that's never changed- it never will."

"Thanks Penelope. You too."

"I want to see you do well. Okay? And in case I don't see you again— you're amazing. You do so much for whoever you can. You'd be missed." She came over and they hugged each other tightly.

"Thanks," she repeated, shutting her eyes.

"Bye."

"Bye."

With that, Penelope left, and there was silence.

Soon, a Peacekeeper came in. "You know the drill," she said, gesturing over her shoulder with her thumb.

"Yeah, yeah," she replied, rolling her eyes.

* * *

 **A/N: This was Baia Kel from** _ **basicgay**_ **and Blake Venturi from** _ **twistedservice**_ **! It's so nice to be done with Reapings! Woohoo! Now onto the train rides!**

 **Also… I realize this chapter is fucking long. Yeehaw. It's over 11,000 words. In case anyone is wondering. :D Baia is a busy bitch and she's so fucking loved so there we go.**

 **Anwhomst, let me know what you think! I really love these two tribs, and I had a hell of a time writing them and all the other Reapings. I'm so excited to get onto the Capitol chapters.**


	17. The Lovebirds

Aeneus and Albia stumbled into Aeneus' apartment, their arms wrapped around one another's shoulders.

They were... more than a little tipsy. That hadn't been their intention when the evening began, but when was it ever?

It had started with a meeting of the Gamemakers to discuss their plans for the Arena, and what sort of obstacles they would integrate. Of course, then Titanius had suggested they all go out for a bite to eat, and a bite to eat dissolved into a round of drinks — to the happy couple, he had said. A round of drinks turned into several drinks, and now Aeneus and Albia were laughing and shoving one another around as they fumbled for a light switch.

"You know, we should have the wedding in the wintertime," Albia said. "Wouldn't that be so against the grain?"

"I thought we agreed on no wedding talk until after the Games," Aeneus said, smiling and kissing ver cheek.

"Oh, hush. Let me dream, won't you?"

They led ver into the bedroom before swooping ver up and tossing ver on the bed. Ve screeched and laughed and they climbed on the bed after them. "Nope, I said no wedding talk until after the Games and I mean it. We should be focusing. Besides, we're both stressed. If we try and do marriage things now, we're going to stop getting along so well."

Ve reached up and tapped their nose. "I could never get sick of you, darling. You're amazing."

They rolled their eyes and planted a kiss on ver lips. "You say that now." They leaned their foreheads together, shutting their eyes.

"Never leave me," ve requested quietly.

"I won't."

"I mean it. I'd die without you."

"You would not."

"I would! I love you more than anything."

They sighed and rolled their eyes. "I love you more than anything too, sweetheart."

Albia rolled away and turned over onto ver stomach. "I'm tired. Let's sleep."

"Okay." Aeneus smiled and laid down beside ver, not even bothering to get out of their clothes or take their makeup off.

* * *

A/N: hooray Reapings are done! Now we're on to the Capitol chapters. I'm so excited for this stuff y'all, there's some subplot heating up and i hope it's not going to come too out of the blue but :)

Anyway, I know this chapter is short but I always like doing in between things with Aeneus and Albia.

Next will be the train rides, and we'll get Mica, Cedar, and Kaia as POVs.

Let me know what you thought of this chapter!


	18. The Name of a Tree: Train Rides

**Mica Carrack**

As the car came to a stop outside the train station, Mica glanced over at Riva and the Mentors.

The doors were opened and he stepped out into the sunlight, squinting. It had been dark inside the car, the tinted windows having kept the sun out.

Degmar turned to face them as he stepped out of the car. "Well," he said, "I hope you two are hungry! We can eat, and then we can watch the live broadcasts of the other Reapings on the way!"

"How long is the train ride?" Riva asked.

"Only about three hours," he said. "You'll be able to finish watching the Reapings at the Training Center!"

Riva nodded but didn't say anything.

Mica followed her into the train, looking around. It was the most posh room he had ever been in, nicer even than the Justice Building. There were doors at either end of the car, and Mica wondered what all this space was for; as far as he knew, there wasn't anyone else on the train besides them, and the person piloting it, and the Capitolites whose job it was to serve and guard them.

"Come along," Degmar said, wagging a hand for them to follow him.

The Mentors pushed past them. They moved with characteristic familiarity; they had done this before.

There were so many Victors in District Four that they sometimes switched with one another, but when they found really gifted Mentors, or the others just didn't feel like taking the time and effort to go to the Capitol every year, they stuck with the same two every time.

These were the same two from the year before: Mabon Dorelly, who had won the Games five years ago, and Patriot Morganne, who was the Victor thirteen years ago.

Mica glanced at Riva and followed them further into the train.

The car they emerged into was obviously a relaxation cart, with tables lining the walls, piled high with food. Riva's eyebrows shot up and she stopped, seeming unsure. She must feel out of place here, unsure what she should do or how she should act. This was purely conjecture, though; she still wore a heavy mask that wouldn't grant Mica any access to whatever she might be feeling.

"Well, come on then, dig in!"

Mabon and Patriot were sitting down on the long couch in front of the huge TV screen, and after a moment, Mica went over to the table. He felt his stomach grumble. He hadn't had to go hungry since he was eight years old, but he hadn't eaten that much that morning, since he hadn't trusted his stomach to be on his side.

He grabbed a plate and took a few biscuits and a piece of bacon, not trusting himself with much more; if he over-ate, he knew he wouldn't be able to keep it down.

He sat at the far end of the couch, as far away from the others as he could, and looked up at the TV. It looked like they were watching the recap of the District Two Reapings.

Riva had a plate piled high with food and a napkin stuffed in her nose. It must have started bleeding again.

Mica returned his attention to the screen: he watched as the District Two boy mounted the stage, his hands clenched into fists. His face was deadly calm, but Mica could see fear stirring behind his eyes. He had learned to recognize that look; years of seeing it in himself had trained him.

It was a surprise, honestly. Most of the District Two kids were bloodthirsty, desperate to get into the Games, and acted as though they weren't afraid to die — Mica assumed some of them weren't.

But he could tell that this kid didn't believe wholeheartedly in the cause. That reassured him. He didn't know how well he could get along with Careers that just wanted to kill for the glory, even if they didn't make it out in the end. He had prepared for that, but if he could avoid a Career pack full of savages, he'd much prefer to.

He glanced over at Riva then, considering her. She was strong and capable, had managed to beat the chosen Tribute without ever training at the Academy. Of course, an argument could be made that Theodosia had been tired out, but he could tell by the way she had moved that that was purely strategic, meaning she was smart. She would be a good asset. He'd want to keep her close; if it came down to it, he didn't want to end up at odds with her.

He looked down at his small plate of food for a moment. He wondered if the Capitolites ate shit like this all the time. He guessed so, and figured, too, that he would also be eating this food for the next week.

As the two Tributes shook hands, he suddenly realized how young the District Two girl was and frowned.

"Oh she's so young!" Degmar exclaimed.

"How the hell did the Academy let _her_ get chosen?"

The Escort sent a sideways glance at Mabon as they spoke. Mica remembered that the Academy was technically illegal, so this was Degmar's way of shushing their Mentor. Of course he _knew_ about them, as did pretty much everyone else in Panem, as far as Mica was aware, but he supposed there was an expectation of plausible deniability. Mabon making a direct reference to it probably made that difficult.

They had a point though; usually the youngest Chosen Tributes were seventeen, with very few exceptions, especially in District Two. The expectation was, if they were that good at fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, imagine how they might improve later on; he wondered what this girl's story was.

He lounged there on the couch for a little while, not knowing if he was allowed to leave as he watched the next Reapings. He started keeping a mental list, keeping track of interesting things about each of the Tributes, sizing them up. Who would be easy to take out, who would be a challenge. Who stood a serious chance against him, who were likely to be Bloodbaths.

After a little while, Mica got up to look for a bathroom, and ended up a few cars down.

He heard the door open and shut behind him and turned. It was Riva.

Her eyes were blank, and her face betrayed next to no emotion.

"What are your plans?" she asked.

"What?"

"I mean, what are your plans. For the Games. Are you going to join the Careers?"

"Why?"

"I want to know if I have to prepare myself to kill you."

Mica's eyebrows shot up. A bold strategy, to be sure. Of course, he supposed he couldn't really be surprised by boldness. She had taken down the Chosen Tribute after all.

He watched her for a moment, and he knew she was sizing him up right back.

"Depends on how they are," he replied finally. "They all seem pretty capable. But if they turn out otherwise then…" He shrugged. Although he was surprised at her, he wasn't exactly _intimidated_. "What are your plans?"

"Same."

He nodded. "Why'd you fight to get in?"

"My brother deserves a better life."

"Don't we all?"

"No."

He huffed in amused surprise. "You sure don't pull any punches, huh."

"I try not to with strangers."

"Well, Riva," he said. "Looks like we'll probably be allies. Hopefully we don't stay strangers for long."

She hummed flatly before turning and leaving the car.

He didn't see her for the rest of the afternoon. He assumed she was watching the rest of the Reapings in her room. He sat awkwardly out in the sitting room with the Mentors and Degmar, snacking idly. He wanted to ask for a piece of paper and a pen, so he could start writing down notes, but he didn't know if they'd even _have_ any, let alone if they'd let him have some.

Soon, just before District Twelve's Reaping started, the train started slowing down. It was almost imperceptible; one moment, when Mica glanced out the window, he couldn't see anything more defined than streaks of color. The next, landscape was starting to focus in, and he could see the mountains which surrounded the Capitol approaching, and in the distance, the uneven spackling of forest and open plains.

Rising, he went to the windows, pressing his face against it in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the Capitol's skyline.

Soon, it came into view, and he felt his eyes widen. It peaked up over the mountains, impossibly tall and beautiful. He had only ever seen it on TV, and the cameras didn't seem to do it justice.

It was the most color he had ever seen, spattered all over the buildings in insane designs. It almost seemed like the _sky_ was brighter here. If he weren't here for the Hunger Games, he might feel like he was on vacation.

* * *

 **Cedar Wayne**

Cedar collapsed onto the floor in the most closed in corner of the train car he could as they pulled out of District Seven. He was shouting and vocalizing, he was yelling for his parents and crying and clutching his hair.

He had tried to avoid going into meltdown mode, tried to make himself act normal, at least until he could be alone, but he couldn't. Once he got onto the train, everything seemed to just crash down and he started freaking out.

The interpreter tried to talk to him, even tried to comfort him, but he refused to look at her, trying to block the rest of the world out. He shut his eyes, glad he was smushed in between a table and the corner, glad for the closeness, it made everything else seem less overwhelming.

After a few minutes, the Mentor and Escort seemed to give up, and the interpreter retreated with them.

He didn't know where his District Partner, Rosewood, was, but he couldn't take his face out of his knees to look.

The yelling subsided soon enough, but he was still crying.

After a few minutes, he felt a light tap on the tip of his shoe. Taking a deep breath, he peeked up over his knees, and saw a pair of dark eyes looking in at him.

It was Rosewood.

She sat back and showed him her hand. In it was a piece of paper — a napkin from the snack table.

Slowly, he uncurled, curious as to what she wanted. He assumed she was going to write on it.

She put it in his hand and he looked at it. Written on it was "Are you alright?"

He shrugged slightly. She extended a pen to him. She was asking him to elaborate.

He leaned forward and wrote in reply, "I'm okay."

"Are you?"

"How okay could anyone be?"

"Understandable. Anything I can do?"

He looked up at her. She had been so _angry_ when she had been Reaped, had tried to _fight_ the Peacekeepers. It was jarring to see her show such gentleness.

He shook his head. "Thanks though."

She smiled at him, and for a moment, Cedar thought she was going to leave.

Then, she wrote, "My brother's name is Cedar."

"You'd think living in District Seven, our parents would rather name us anything other than a tree."

She laughed at that. Cedar felt a little bit of tensione lift off his shoulders, and he allowed himself to smile in return.

"Do you want to come and watch the Reapings?"

He shook his head.

"Okay. You want me to bring you something to eat?"

He shook his head again.

She nodded and left.

After a while, though, Cedar found himself missing the company, and stood up from his hiding place.

Rosewood turned and looked at him. He went to sit beside her, ignoring the interpreter as she tried to talk to him.

He looked up at the screen, glad that they had the subtitles on. He didn't really _want_ to watch the Reapings, since it seemed like it would make everything all the more real, but he knew that for his own survival, he needed to be able to see the Tributes before they all arrived in the Capitol.

* * *

 **Kaia Bock**

Kaia shoved past her District Partner as she went up into the train, wiping tears from her eyes. It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair — she deserved better, she didn't deserve to go into the Hunger Games. What had she done in her life that made this happen to her?

"Hey," she heard from behind her.

She turned and glared. It was her District Partner. The worst thing was that she actually looked _concerned_ about her. "What do you want?" she demanded.

"Are you okay?"

"No I'm not okay! How could I be fucking okay!"

"Listen, I know it's horrible, but it'll be okay. You can't give up hope."

Kaia snorted. "What would you know about me? You don't know anything! You're just some — poor fucking fruit harvesting trash!"

Ida's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and the hand she had reached out fell back at her side. Then, her lips curved down in an angry frown. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded. "I didn't do anything to you. I'm trying to help!"

Kaia rolled her eyes. "I don't want your 'help,'" she retorted. "What could you possibly do that would _help_ me?"

"Because we're in this together, we're both going into the Hunger Games. If we stick together, and we win, we can both go home. Don't you want that?"

Kaia sighed and turned away. She didn't want Ida to die, she didn't want _anyone_ to die. But she wasn't about to accept help from a farmer. She wasn't going to let Idalah stand there and look down at her, think that she was better. It wasn't fair.

"Just leave me alone," she said, turning away. She pushed through the door into the next train car, looking for her room. She wanted to be alone. She didn't care about the Reapings or about strategy, or about anything. She just wanted to be able to be alone, to sit down and find some way to cope with this, to fight her way through the reality so she could regain some kind of control. How could she be expected to sit with them, sit and watch as other kids had to experience the same horror as she had? She needed to prepare herself, she needed to be ready for when they got to the Capitol. If she didn't, she knew she wouldn't be able to prepare for the Games properly, and that would confirm her death — as if she had much of a chance anyway.

She went through another car before she found the sleeping cars. It took about a day and a half to get to the Capitol from District Eleven, so she'd have that much time to get ready.

She found one of the bedrooms, the one she assumed was for her or Ida, and went inside, sitting down on the enormous bed.

She wondered how she could be expected to sleep in a bed this big, with all its empty space. It would feel like she were sleeping with death.

She laid down and curled up into a ball. Despite the fact that she thought she had been cried out after the goodbyes, she found herself crying into her pillow, sobbing and screaming and unable to keep herself quiet. All she could do was bury her face into the pillow to try and stifle the noise.

After a little while, she must have fallen asleep, because she was jolted awake by a knock at the door. She looked around, and glanced out the window — it was dark. How long had she been asleep?

"Who is it?" she asked, but her voice came out as little more than a croak. It had been rubbed raw by her screaming and crying, so she cleared her throat and tried again. This time, she managed to produce sound that would carry through the door.

"It's Darium."

Kaia frowned. What the fuck would _she_ want? Maybe she wanted to come and tell her it was time for dinner, or something. Her curiosity won out over her temptation to lash out. "Come in."

The door opened and her blue hair poked into the room. Her eyebrows were furrowed in concern. "Are you alright?" she asked. "Idalah said you were upset."

"I'm _fine,_ " she retorted, feeling anger bubble up into her again. "Go away."

Darium sighed and stepped inside finally. She shut the door behind her and folded her hands behind her back. "I know this is all very difficult," she said. "A lot of tributes don't really like going into the Games. I _know_ that. I've been an Escort long enough to understand, a little more than most of the people in the Capitol. I know this is hard. But if you want to make it after this, you need to prepare for it. But I'm not here to talk about strategy, that's Marty's job." Something told Kaia that Marty wasn't very dependable when it came to mentoring.

After a moment of silence, Darium crossed the room until she was only standing a few feet away from the bed. "Do you want to talk?"

Kaia was about to deny her, about to send her away, but she realized that she _did_ want to talk. She felt like the inside of her skull was threatening to spill out of her ears, and maybe talking to someone besides herself about how she felt — someone who wasn't going to wag their head and talk to her about strategy — might alleviate some of that pressure.

"It's just—" She faltered, unsure exactly how to verbalize everything she was feeling. "I just... it's just not fair. I didn't do anything. Why did _I_ get Reaped?"

"I think that this idea that you have to 'do something' in order to 'deserve' to be Reaped is part of what's making you so miserable. Do you really think any of the kids who go into the Games every year deserve to die?"

"Well, no, but — it just feels like I deserve better."

"We all deserve better, that's part of the struggle."

Kaia sighed. Maybe that was true. "But how else am I supposed to feel?"

"You're grieving, child, there isn't really any way to feel that's less painful than anything else. Just... give it time, and you'll begin to adjust, and then you'll be able to think more clearly about it."

She nodded slightly, and then looked up at the Escort. "I guess so."

Thinking about it for a moment, Darium reluctantly sat down beside Kaia on the edge of the bed. She glanced at her and then wrapped an arm around her, rubbing her arm. "It'll be okay."

Kaia snorted. "No it won't."

"Well, maybe not. But what else can someone say in order to make it better?"

"I guess nothing."

"Are you hungry?"

Up until she mentioned it, Kaia hadn't felt hungry, but now she realized that her stomach was rumbling painfully.

"Yeah," she said, looking up at the Escort. "I think I am."

"Come on then, let's go find something to eat. The Reapings should be playing again soon, we should watch them."

She shrugged. "Maybe."

* * *

 **Blake Venturi**

As Blake stepped into the train, she looked around. It was probably the fanciest place she had ever seen, and God the _food_. There was food _everywhere_. She felt her stomach grumble, felt her mouth water.

"Well, if the two of you are hungry, please feel free to get something to eat while we watch the Reapings."

Blake looked over her shoulder at Baia, Ezra, and the other mentor Abdul as they stepped up behind her.

They went to the tables and, though none of them looked particularly happy about it, they all got some food. Blake felt reassured that she had three people there with her to copy off of, so she would know what was okay and what wasn't. She followed them and got a few things, biting her lip. She sat down at the edge of the couch, trying to keep as far away from the others as possible.

Baia came and sat down beside her, though there was a good foot between them. She glanced over at her before looking up at the screen as the Reapings started.

Baia was largely quiet. When she did speak, it was to Ezra, in hushed tones. Ezra seemed nice. He looked likeable, although she was sure that this wasn't comfortable for him. She had liked him during the Games. He was the one who made him and Baia so likeable as a pair. They played off one another well, and Blake found herself trusting him.

Later, the others went to bed, until it was only Blake and Baia left. The District Twelve Reaping was just ending, and she was about to get up and go to bed herself when Baia spoke.

"What are your plans?" she asked.

She didn't look over at her, and if Blake hadn't seen her lips moving out of the corner of her eyes, she wasn't even sure if she would know she had spoken to begin with.

"Um... I don't know," she said.

"Are you going to get into an alliance?"

"Maybe. I probably will. I don't know how else I'm going to survive."

Then, realizing that proper society behavior indicated that she should turn the conversation back on Baia, asked, "What about you?"

"I'll probably have a small alliance, help them get as far as possible. I'm not opposed to the idea of sacrificing myself to make sure someone else gets out."

She wasn't sure why, but Blake felt her heart shift painfully. How could she feel that way? Of course Blake had heard of her, she was one of the most well-known Victors in the District. She _helped_ people. Did she do that out of guilt?

"Maybe..." She took a deep breath, trying to force herself to have enough confidence to offer this. "Maybe if we paired up, we could both go home. And you wouldn't have to do that."

Now Baia did look over at her. This must have surprised her.

"Maybe," she said quietly.

"We could have other people, too, but I think — that would make it more complicated, don't you think?"

"I suppose."

"You don't have to. It's okay. I just thought—"

"No. It's a good idea."

She met Baia's eyes. "So— is that it then?"

She raised her eyebrows. "What?"

"Are we in an alliance?"

She let out a huff of amusement. "Yeah."

After that, she stood and left, leaving Blake in the room by herself. She watched as she mounted the stage, watched as that girl chose Baia as the Tribute. It was disorienting, watching herself on TV doing things that she remembered doing just a few hours before. Was that how it felt for the Victors? To watch their actions over and over again every year? She wondered how any of them could stand it.

She knew soon that the Reapings would start over, with a short interlude of the commentators talking, making projections, commenting on all the tributes, on who did what. Already, she figured there would be bets going on in the Capitol. She wasn't sure if that was legal there, but it seemed almost like an inevitability. Of course people were going to make bets about it. Blake didn't feel like going to bed yet, she was afraid of sitting in a bedroom with the lights off, with nothing to occupy herself with but her thoughts. She wasn't sure if she would be able to handle thinking about everything yet. She glanced over her shoulder, back towards where District Thirteen lay. She felt her eyes fill. What were her siblings going to do without her? First they lost their parents, and now they would lose her? They struggled enough already. She supposed she could only hope that Max would get a job as a nuclear scientist, and make up for the hole left by all the death that seemed to follow their family around. Maybe they would be able to ensure that they could all live comfortable, that they could continue to eat without Blake there to work and take tesserae out - they had basically relied on it. She sniffled and turned back around, looking up at the TV, watching as the brightly painted commentators talked to each other, joked and laughed like they weren't talking about the murder of twenty-six kids.

She wasn't even listening, but her attention refocused as the screen shifted so show the Head Gamemaker. They were being interviewed by the master of ceremonies.

"Can't you tell us anything about the Arena?" she was begging.

Aeneus chuckled slightly. "Unfortunately, Lucretia, my lips are sealed. Everyone will find out in due time."

"Are we right in assuming that it's as exciting as a Quarter Quell demands?"

"I would assume so. We have quite a few tricks up our sleeves this year — you won't be disappointed, I assure you."

"Now, if you don't mind, I'd also like to ask you something personal. We _all_ know you're engaged to Albia Sky — it's all anyone in the Capitol is really talking about, besides the Games. How is your engagement going? Has planning the Games made your relationship difficult?"

Aeneus rolled their eyes. "We've tried to abstain from wedding planning during the Games, and no, it hasn't made our relationship 'difficult.' Albia and I are just as in love as ever, and we've been together through two Games as partners, this is not going to be any different."

Obviously, the Head Gamemaker was annoyed at the questions about their relationship. Although she knew she ought to hate them, Blake couldn't help but feel bad for them. It would be beyond exhausting to be in a position like that, and the only thing most people would want to talk about is your personal life.

Blake fell asleep sometime during the District Five Reaping, she wasn't sure exactly when. All she knew was that she was woken up by Baia. It was still dark in the traincar, but outside she could see the damp light of dawn.

"Hey," her District Partner said.

She sat up, squinting and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Oh," she said. "I didn't realize I fell asleep."

"You want to go to your room?"

"No, I don't think I could sleep more."

"I know the feeling. But you really ought to try. When we get to the Capitol, you can ask for pills that'll knock you right out."

"I might try those." She didn't really think she had any intention of trying them, but she was too tired to think up an excuse.

Baia sat down beside her on the couch, leaning her head back.

"Did you sleep okay?" Blake asked, looking over at her.

"Nope. why do you think I'm up so early?"

She smiled. "I don't blame you."

Baia looked over at her, smiling back. "Yeah, well. You hungry? There should be food somewhere around here."

"I could eat."

She stood. "Come on."

* * *

 **A/N: So here were Train rides! Yeehaw. These were really fun to write, I really enjoy getting to know more of the Tributes!**

 **Next up, we're going to have another single-POV chap, and then Chariots!**

 **For the Capitol Chapters, I think I'm going to incorporate Chapter questions? Because idk why not fnaoingrag**

 **I know we've only seen a little bit of the Tributes so far, but who do you foresee being in an Alliance together? Any unlikely pairs you can think of?**

 **Tell me what you thought of this chapter! I'm really excited to get into the groove of everything**


	19. All the Lonely People

**Peri Baines**

The Capitol was fucking _incredible._

Sure, they had seen it on TV loads of times, had seen fly-overs of all the candy-colored buildings and the candy-colored people, but to actually be on the ground with them looming over — it was totally different. Peri had never seen buildings so big, not even in District One. What did they need all this space for anyway?

And the Tribute Center, _God_. It was so big. There really wasn't anything to do while they waited for the other trains. After they stood being measured by their design team, their Escort told them they were pretty much free to go wherever in the Center they wanted besides the bedrooms of the other Tributes. So they wandered up and down the floors, sometimes taking the elevator, sometimes taking the stairs.

It sucked being the first District there, there was no one to fucking talk to. Their District Partner just wanted to sulk, and apparently had no interest in talking to them.

Eventually, though, it seemed that District Two arrived, because the next time Peri went to that floor, there were Avoxes wandering around.

That was another thing about the Capitol — Peri knew what the Avoxes were, but they had never seen one in person. It was weird to watch them wandering around, cleaning things up, carrying platters of food or drinks, silent as ghosts.

Peri wandered onto the District Two floor, looking around. They saw one of the Tributes come out, they couldn't remember his name. He looked surprised to see them.

"Oh," he said, stopping in his tracks. "Hi."

"Hi."

"What — what are you doing up here?"

"I've been wandering around for hours. I got bored upstairs. It's really boring waiting around here for the other Districts."

He nodded once, looking a little bit like he wanted to run away. "Right. Um..."

"I'm Peri, by the way. In case you didn't remember, from my Reaping."

"Yeah. I'm Keiynan."

God, this guy was kind of... really cute.

Peri shook their head, as if it would banish that thought away. Those kinds of things weren't possible in the Hunger Games. If they got attached like that, it would make watching him die — or even being the one to kill him — all the harder.

"Well. I think. I think dinner might be ready soon. So I think I'm going to go back up to my floor."

"You mean down?"

"Right!" They laughed nervously. "Down. Yeah. Silly me. Anyway. See you... you know," they made a vague circle with their hand, "around."

He smiled a little bit, though it looked forced. "Yeah, see you."

Once they had left and the elevator doors had shut behind them, Peri let their head fall back hard against the wall. "That was the worst," they muttered to themself. This was new, unfamiliar territory, and they had an awkward streak anyway.

They'd have to get over this type of shit if they were going to be in the Career Alliance together. Keiynan looked like the type who wouldn't really be down for any type of fun in the Arena.

As they returned to their floor, they saw the Mentors, Brilliance and Dorimma, along with their Escort and Dazzle, sitting at a table loaded down with food.

"Glad you could join us, Imperial," Macaron said, waving them over. "I hope you're hungry, after doing all that traveling."

They nodded, putting a smile on as they sat down. They couldn't help their leg bouncing idly while they ate in silence, listening to the Mentors monologue about strategy and how every moment counted. They suggested they look around at the other Tributes, talk to them — assuming any of them would go near two kids from District One — see what weaknesses they could gleam.

"It was a blessing when the Capitol finally started allowing Tributes to travel around the Center. It makes alliances and shit so much easier."

Imperial heard Macaron clear her throat at the swear, and they internalized a smile. That was _so_ Capitol.

"Well, did you meet any of the other Tributes? Usually only the first couple of Districts arrive the first night."

Peri looked up, raising their eyebrows. "What?" they asked. They hadn't really been listening, their focus had been grabbed by the ridiculous bow tied around one of Macaron's teeth.

Brilliance repeated serself, raising ser eyebrows at them.

"Oh, yeah. I met the District Two guy."

"What did you think of him?"

"I think he seems cool."

"Cool? Cool doesn't win the Hunger Games, Imperial."

"No, well, what I mean is — he was kind of cold. He seemed a little weirded out that I was there."

"You ought to get in close with him. He seems like a leader type. He's probably going to be heading off the Pack this year. You'd do well to catch his eye."

Again, Peri had to stifle a smile. That could all be interpreted in a different way, were the circumstances different and Peri wasn't trying very adamantly to ignore just how cute their rival was.

"Yeah. Hopefully next time we talk it'll be a little less awkward."

Brilliance turner ser attention to Dazzle now, who was all but glaring into her soup. "And what about you?" se asked.

She just shrugged.

"Are you going to join the Careers?"

Peri couldn't help but feel like there wasn't really an answer besides "yes" that Brilliance would accept.

Dazzle shrugged. She didn't really seem like she wanted to be here, even though she was the Chosen Tribute. Maybe she had only wanted to come because Kinnick was, but she had been picked and no one had Volunteered for her.

Brilliance frowned. "The Careers look good this year," se said. "It'd be foolish to pass it up."

She didn't look up, just shrugged and kept eating.

"It might be your only way to survive."

She finally raised her head, and she was glaring. She stood up and stormed off to her room, slamming the door shut. Peri blinked as the room settled into stunned silence.

"Well," Macaron said, clearing her throat and wiping her lip daintily with a napkin. "I think I'm going to retire as well. Good night everyone."

* * *

 **A/N:I'm updating twice in one night because I'm a madman and can't help myself.**

 **So in case it hasn't been made apparent so far, I'm going to do multiple POV chapters of major stuff (Chariots, training, interviews, etc.) with smaller, single-POV chapters in between! I wanted to give everyone at least one Capitol chapter, but the shorter ones are doubles for people I wanted to see more of (also because i'm a Slut for symmetry). Hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think!**

 **Also this Chapter was SUPPOSED to be titled "All the Lonely People, Where do they All Belong?" but fanfiction APPARENTLY has a title character cap so :/**

 **Next is going to be the Chariots, with Marley, Soren, Ari, and Shard for POVs!**

 **Now for a chapter question: do you think Dazzle should join the Careers? Do you think she could make it on her own or with other allies?**


	20. A Parade of the Dead: Chariots

**Marley Nash**

Marley had been in the Capitol six hours before it was time to get ready for the Chariot rides. They were summoned into the main room with Boden and their Mentor, Xixi, while Marcella clucked at them like a chicken.

Their Mentor was already dressed in a casual brown suit and was subtly nursing a canteen of some kind, but quickly put it away when xe noticed Marcella.

"Come along now, you can't be late for your stylist's appointments! Although of course you have to be made _presentable_ for your team. They can't do anything about an outfit with you looking like a pair of ragamuffins, now can they?"

She smiled and laughed musically to herself as she led them to the elevator.

They were brought down below ground level into a huge garage filled with black cars. Marcella led them directly to one of the limos, ignoring the few other groups of Tributes that were doing the same.

Marley glanced around at the others, though. They had seen them all in the Reaping recaps, of course, but there was something different about being there, physically, with them. It made all of this more real, to be able to see them in real life, the people whom they might end up killing, or who might kill them.

They got into the back of the car with Boden and sat as far away from him as physically possible. They folded their hands in their lap and looked out the tinted window as they emerged onto the street. The chariots were supposed to be the first time the Tributes enter the tower, which was kind of the whole point, starting a few hours after District Twelve arrived — but District Six arrived ages before them, and District One had apparently been there since yesterday afternoon. So either it was kept a secret or everyone ignored it so the symbolism wouldn't be ruined.

As they went down the sprawling street towards the remake center, Marley felt some anxiety shoot through their chest — if they were being cleaned up, chances were they were going to have to be naked around these strangers, these people who would look at them like some kind of alien creature, with all their body hair and split ends and scabs and scars.

They pulled into a similar garage below the remake center and were quickly ushered out. Boden went through a door marked "Men" and Marley saw that they were quickly being ushered towards a door marked "Women." Off to the left, though, was another door marked simply with an "X."

They had to make a split-second decision, and before they could talk themself out of it, figuring there was no way anyone besides Marcella would know, said, "Actually, could I go to the X door please?"

Marcella looked down at them, having to process that for a moment. "Oh!" she said. "Oh my goodness child why didn't you tell me earlier? Yes, of course, come along." She started steering them in the direction of the nonbinary door and through it.

It was laid out much like a hospital, with different curtained off sections. Marcella led them towards an empty one. "This here is Marley," she introduced. "I leave them in your capable hands."

The hour and a half it took to "clean them up" was probably the most excruciating of their life. Eyebrows were plucked, body hair was thinned, even the stuff that would apparently be covered by the outfit was unceremoniously ripped off.

Finally, they were let free and taken into a different room, where their stylist descended on them. Marley had never particularly liked it when people fussed over them, especially not what they wore. So the two hours they spent in that room with the flock standing around them, ordering them to stand stand up, tilt their head, shut their eyes, open their eyes, et cetera, was the worst two hours of their life.

That is, until they actually had to go to the Chariots. The thought of being out in front of all those people in this _ridiculous_ outfit, having to stand next to Boden, the kid who fucking _laughed_ when he got Reaped, and act like they _wanted_ to be there, like they weren't scared shitless — it made the remake seem like nothing in comparison.

After their stylist had set them free, Marley went out into the enormous stables where they would wait for the parade to start.

They looked down at themself, internalizing a groan. This would be the most humiliating thing they would do in the short amount of time they had left to live. They had on a skintight bodysuit a similar shade to their skin tone, and was wrapped in a scratchy, stiff, parchment-like paper printed with a map of Panem on it, and the railway tracks that crisscrossed the country, connecting the Districts to one another and to the Capitol. It was an okay idea, they supposed, but it was uncomfortable as all hell and, in the way that was so distinctly Capitol, corny.

Boden came out a moment later, scratching his arm idly. He flashed Marley a grin and they looked away quickly. If they could find any reason to look forward to the Games, it would be that they would finally be able to get away from him. He was terrifying, and they were always vaguely concerned that he would try and kill them in their sleep, or something.

They spent this moment to look around at the other Tributes as they waited by their Chariots.

A few of them talked to their District Partners, a few wandered around and talked to others, though this seemed largely limited to the Career District Tributes. Marley just stood near their carriage, glancing now and then at their horse. They had never seen a horse in person before, and for some reason they had never known just how _big_ they were. It was terrifying.

After everyone seemed to arrive, and the Parade was about to start, an intercom crackled to life and ordered them all into their chariots. Marley got on and grabbed the handles tightly as their horse pulled them obediently into a line behind District Five.

Then, the enormous doors opened, and District One's chariot pulled out.

It wasn't long before their horse sped up into a canter, allowing an acceptable distance between the chariot in front of theirs and the chariot behind theirs.

Frankly, Marley was just glad to be out of the stable. It smelled _awful_ in there.

They heard the crowds cheering, though they weren't sure if it was for them or for one of the other Districts. Marley forced a smile onto their face and started waving, looking out into the crowd and hoping they weren't grimacing.

The ride would take about twenty minutes as they crossed town, stopped in the city center, and then entered the Tribute Tower.

It had been about ten minutes into the parade when they heard a sharp ripping sound from beside them, and their head snapped over.

"What are you _doing_?" they hissed. Despite how scared of Boden they were, they couldn't help themself, because Boden was literally _ripping his costume off._

He flashed a grin over at them as the crowd erupted in gasps and cheers.

"It was starting to bug me," he said with a shrug, before tossing the paper over his shoulder. He was now working at tearing the bodysuit underneath, and Marley looked away. They could see out of the corner of their eye the enormous screen behind the President's Platform as they approached the city center, where she stood with the Gamemakers, the Head of Ceremonies, and the commentators. It was zoomed in on the two of them, wanting to catch every tantalizing moment of one of the Tributes ripping their costume off.

Boden had managed to tear one shoulder off, and had gone back to waving with the most terrifying, toothy grin on his face.

They rode past the President's Platform, and Marley did their best to ignore their District Partner.

Was that even allowed? Would he be punished? They were curious, a little part of them hoped that he would. Of course, this would get him plenty of attention for the next few hours. It was probably the most interesting thing to happen during the Chariots.

* * *

 **Soren Arausio**

Soren was huddled in the furthest corner he could in the stables, head in his hands and sobbing. He heard someone say his name over the intercom, but that just made him panic harder. It felt like this horrid grass tunic was going to swallow him whole, and part of him wished it would. He didn't want to be on that fucking chariot, with everyone in the whole world watching him. He didn't want to take part in this disgusting spectacle, this parade of the dead. He wanted to be back home with Barric and Tahera, where he could be safe and could just fall asleep in his boyfriend's arms. He couldn't stop the near-constant flow of tears down his face, but he held his breath as he heard someone approaching.

"Hey."

He flinched at the voice, and the owner sighed.

"Soren, what's the matter?"

He shook his head, unable to find his voice even though hundreds of responses shot through his head.

The person squatted in front of him and he slowly lifted his face, seeing his Mentor through blurry eyes. "You okay?"

He shook his head again.

"You nervous about the rides?"

He shrugged. Really, he wasn't all that nervous about the rides. The horses and the crowds made him nervous, but none of that seemed important with his death looming over him.

"I was nervous about mine. Nearly pissed myself. Then you know what my Mentor did?"

He didn't respond, and xe seemed to take that as a request to continue. "She went and found me a bottle of whiskey, and had me take a couple shots of it, to calm my nerves." Xe laughed at the memory.

"Listen, kid, I know this is hard, this is horrible, I wish more than anything you guys didn't have to go through this. It's not fair. But we can't do anything about it at the moment. Chances are, the Games aren't going to stop any time soon. And once you get the Chariots over with, you can go sit alone all you like in your room."

Soren sniffled and wiped his eyes. "I miss my boyfriend," he said quietly. "And my sister."

Gabriel nodded in understanding. "I'm sure you do," xe said quietly. "We all miss our loved ones while we're here." There was more to that, words that were implied but xe didn't seem to have the courage to say. Soren knew it probably had to do with the fact that he wasn't ever going to see them again. Xe probably didn't want to make his panic attack worse.

"But, hey. I'm sure your boyfriend would love to see you in that ridiculous getup getting roses thrown at you and shit."

"No one's going to throw roses at me."

"Sure they will. I've had my ear to the ground, Soren. They saw you at the Reaping. They know you're a fighter, that you have people you need to get back to. They're suckers for that sort of thing."

"I'm not a fighter," he whispered. Not like Tahera, who was ready to punch a Peacekeeper if it meant keeping him safe. She was always the stronger one.

"You're a fighter in a different way. A more subtle way. You've got love in there, and I think the Capitolites know that it's a more intense love than some of these other kids have."

He sniffled again. "Really?"

"Of course kid, why would I lie to you?"

"Because I'm sitting in the corner and I need to get on my chariot."

Xe smiled wryly. "Alright, fair point. But you're going to have to trust me on this. Come on. What would your boyfriend and your sister think if they didn't see you out there?" Xe extended a hand and pulled him up, wrapping an arm around him and leading him over to the chariots.

"Tahera would probably make fun of me and call me a big baby." She always supported him with his anxiety, and she only ever made fun of him in a way she knew wouldn't make him feel bad. He knew she'd poke him in the arm and make fun of him for being scared of a horse.

"And we can't have that, right?" As they neared the carriage and the announcement went out that the parade was about to start, Gabriel put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about the crowds, kid. They'll love you. Catch a rose for your boyfriend, alright?"

He took a deep breath and got up onto the chariot beside his District Partner, letting his breath out shakily.

"Okay," he said to Gabriel.

Xe gave him a thumbs up and walked away.

As the doors to the stables opened and District One started pulling out, he wiped his face.

"You okay?" Sammy asked.

"I don't like crowds," he replied.

"Just don't look at 'em."

He looked up at him for a moment, taken aback by his helpfulness. What was his strategy? Was he trying to make himself seem like less of a threat? It wasn't working, because he was enormous, and looked like he could probably lift a cow. "Yeah," he said finally, looking forward and squeezing the rail harder. He could hear the crowds cheering all the way from back here, and it just made his heart beat harder in his chest. How was he going to handle the interview, with all those cameras on him, knowing he was the only person anyone was focusing on at that moment?

Just thinking about it made him start shaking again, and he whimpered as the horse started moving, following District Eight at a rather large distance.

They emerged onto the street and there was so much flashing light and noise that Soren felt like he might pass out.

Cheers started getting louder, though he wasn't sure for whom. Maybe they were for Sammy, whose brother had been killed in the Games. Maybe there was someone in District Eight they just really liked. Maybe Gabriel had been right, and this was for _him_. He forced one of his hands to detach from the rail and started waving at the crowd. He hoped his smile didn't look like a grimace. This was the first opportunity for the Tributes to make a good impression, maybe start getting sponsors — no matter what anyone said, this was important. Somewhere out there, he suspected Gabriel was moving around, talking to people, talking about how good xer Tributes were. Soren could only hope it would be enough.

* * *

 **Ari Masuda**

Ari wasn't sure exactly what to expect when she left the Remake center — still rubbing a sore spot between here eyebrows — and into the stables that held the horses. She had been around animals all her life, she was used to the smell. Horses smelled differently than cows, of course, but it was all the same nastiness to her. At least the horses didn't smell like rotten milk.

She glanced out of the corner of her eye as Denver emerged, looking green and more than a little panicked.

"You're not going to throw up again, are you?" she asked.

He looked over at her. "Not sure yet," he said.

"Well, if you do, try and keep it away from me." She smiled at him a little bit, trying to make sure it didn't come across as rude.

He smiled tightly back. "Will do."

Ari looked around at the other Tributes. It was weird, seeing them all in their freakish outfits, watching them mill about. A lot of them looked somewhat lost, a few of them were talking. She spotted the group of Career Tributes standing by the front of the stables, and felt a shiver run up her spine. Those were the kids who were likely going to kill her. One or two of them might actually get out of the Games alive. She quickly looked away, rubbing her bare arms. She was in a butcher's apron and not much else, with blood splattered all over her. She had been told it was fake, but she wasn't so sure. Denver was dressed as a cow, evidently the one she was suppose to be slaughtering. She gagged. That was quite possibly the most tone-deaf concept she had ever heard of, though she supposed their stylists didn't see it that way. She had thought she had overheard hers muttering about how "avant-garde" it was going to be, since no one had done something like this in a while. Really, putting them in a predator-prey situation — even a conceptual one — was far too close to her imminent future for comfort, even if she was the one doing the slaughtering.

She tried to push that from her mind again, and instead refocused to her surroundings. This should be a time for strategy. That was probably what the Careers were doing, honestly. They probably weren't flirting, at the very least.

She went over to stand by the chariot with a large, stylized "10" on it and looked around at the other Tributes again. She thought about Alliances, thought about how she would try and go about getting into one. Was she gutsy enough to approach a perfect stranger and ask them to trust her, to protect her, to help her, even though by the end of the Games — assuming they made it that far — one would have to kill the other? Did she have the stomach for that? It just seemed… dishonest.

She knew she wasn't likely to survive otherwise. Maybe if Denver wanted an Alliance, she could approach him. That seemed easier, in the long run, since if they both survived they could both go home.

She decided she was going to wait until the Training days, to see who of her competitors were skilled and in what. She had to be strategic about this, had to find people who seemed trustworthy and useful, but weren't going to overpower her when the time came.

She looked up as an intercom ordered them onto their chariots. She saw Denver approach, one hand on his stomach. As he came alongside the chariot, he grabbed it with his other hand. "This isn't good," he muttered.

"Should I call a medic or something?" she asked. Were those even available? What constituted an emergency that would stop the chariot ceremony?

He shook his head. "I'll be fine," he said. After a moment, he pulled himself up onto the chariot.

Ari picked up the meat cleaver she had put down and followed him, swallowing hard. She kept an eye on him, just in case she would have to jump out of the way to avoid getting puked on. "You one of those people who pukes when they're nervous?"

He nodded. "Apparently. Never had a reason to until the Reaping, though, I guess."

"Well, hopefully you don't get motion-sick too."

He snorted. "No kidding."

The enormous doors opened, and she saw huge screens lining the buildings, watching and broadcasting as the first chariot rolled out and picked up speed. The District One Tributes were, as usual, dressed to the nines and putting on an enormous show. They were gushing and waving and flexing, and Ari couldn't help but groan. It was embarrassing to watch.

Her and Denver's horse slowly brought them closer and closer to the door as more and more chariots pulled out and disappeared into the heart of the Capitol. She was staring up at the ceiling when she heard the crowd erupt.

Her eyes returned to the screen and she watched as the District Six boy ripped his costume off.

"Holy shit," Ari said. What was he doing? Was this some kind of act of rebellion? Some kind of fuck you to the Capitol? Was he refusing to play in their game? If she remembered correctly, this was the kid who laughed when he was chosen, so maybe it was.

Soon enough, it was their turn, and the horse sped up into a canter. Ari smiled and waved her hand — the one that wasn't currently occupied by a cleaver, of course.

Beside her, she heard Denver curse, followed by a retch. Ari clamped her teeth shut and tried to ignore it. She didn't know if she was one of those people who threw up at the sight of others doing it, and frankly she didn't want to find out with the whole of Panem watching. There were gasps of disgust in the audience and she knew that the screen would be focused on them.

Rather than continuing to ignore it, though, Ari turned and put a hand on his back. "You okay?" she asked him.

Part of this was strategic, but largely, she was concerned for this poor kid.

She figured if she showed concern for him, the Capitolites might take notice of her, it might get her some points with potential sponsors. They ate District Partner closeness up. That sounded selfish in her head, but she really was worried about him. It couldn't be easy to be puking in front of everyone. Luckily, he had turned his head to the other side of the chariot, so it wasn't on the floor, and had slowly lowered himself down into a crouch.

He nodded slightly. "I'm fine," he said, wiping his mouth with the collar of the bodysuit he was wearing. "I really need to find out how to get over this."

"You need some help up?"

He shook his head and stood. He was shaky, but managed a shy smile and wave to the audience.

Ari felt a wave of pity in her. This had to have been torture for him. He had just humiliated himself in front of the whole country. Though, she supposed, he didn't have much longer to worry about it.

* * *

 **Desmond Shard**

"You nervous?"

Desmond looked up. His District Partner, Ayana, was standing in front of him, arms crossed. She must have just gotten out of the Remake Center. She didn't seem nearly as unkempt as Desmond was, but he supposed there was more on women the stylists were concerned about. Beauty standards and all that.

He shook his head, putting on his most confident smile. "Crowds have never bothered me," he said. "I'm one of the best storytellers in the Seam."

"You got a lot of those then?"

He rolled his eyes. "A few."

She laughed briefly. "Yeah?"

He looked away, biting his lip. He considered, briefly, asking if she wanted to be in an Alliance with him, but her advanced age made him hesitate. She didn't seem like the type of person who would follow him around, and those were the people he was used to leading. Given the opportunity, she might be able to see through his veil and figure out that he wasn't quite as sure of himself as he made out to be. No, he'd find his way with a younger crowd. Ayana was nice enough, but he tried to keep that thought out of his mind. He didn't want to get attached or sentimental with any of these people. It would just make it harder in the end.

In some ways, it was easier to get attached to one's District Partner, even if one didn't intend on joining an Alliance with them. At least, chances were, they weren't constantly plotting how most effectively to kill you.

As the intercom came on, telling them all to get onto their chariots, Desmond felt a bolt of anxiety go through his chest.

"Okay Shard, you got this." He shook his limbs out, trying to clear them of their nervous tingle, and got up into the chariot beside Ayana. They were next to last in line, so he knew he had a while to prepare for being in the eyes of Panem.

He took this time to consider potential Alliances. There were quite a couple of younger Tributes, and a few that looked positively lost. Maybe if any of them had any skills that could be helpful, he could wrangle them into an Alliance. And even if they _weren't_ going to be all that useful, he supposed there was safety in numbers.

It almost made him feel guilty, thinking like this. These were _other people_ , real humans, with lives, and families, that they wanted to go back to, same as him. Was he being manipulative? Was he being dehumanizing by only thinking of these other kids in terms of how they could help him?

He let out a breath. It didn't really _matter_ whether this was the morally correct thing to do. It was the _Hunger Games_. There was a sliding scale of what was more or less moral to do, but there wasn't anything about this that was one hundred percent _good_. He had to get used to the idea that most of these kids — including him, if he were being honest with himself — wouldn't make it back home alive.

He committed the appearances of a few of the younger potential allies to memory, planning to approach them during Training. He hoped he would be able to recognize them without the ridiculous costumes they were all wearing.

As the chariots pulled out one by one, Desmond thought of his angle. He was a charismatic person, he should have no problem winning over the Capitolites. The only problem was, he was a nobody — just some kid from the Seam. He was no Girl on Fire, he wasn't Baia Kel, and he _certainly_ wasn't a Career; there wasn't anything that set him apart from the other average Tributes. He'd have to make a name for himself, stand out. But how? Short of being openly rebellious, falling in love, or making up a particularly sick and gushy sob story, there wasn't anything that he could think of. Well, he had six days to figure it out. He wasn't counting on anything, of course. Rarely did outer District kids ever get much in the way of sponsors unless they were the Capitol's sweethearts.

He felt his chest puff up as the chariot started to roll, and he plastered his biggest, most winning smile onto his face.

"Ready?" Ayana asked.

He nodded. "I'm always ready," he replied.

With that, they emerged into the wide avenue, and the noise from the crowds was overwhelming. He didn't think most of them were paying attention to them, though. He started waving, looking around at the crowd, but kept sending glances at the TV screen. It was split into two: one was watching the District Six chariot, where the boy had ripped the upper half of his costume off, and the District Ten chariot, where the boy seemed to be recovering from some fit or something, and the girl was crouching beside him.

After a moment, though, the cameras grew bored of them and refocused on the Tributes who were emerging from the doors. They were given a minute or two of facetime, and then it focused itself on District Thirteen. Typical. Of course they were being overshadowed by Thirteen; a Victor being Reaped was probably the most scandalous thing to happen since the second rebellion. The commentators certainly hadn't been concerned about saving time while they talked about _that_ particular detail.

The ride seemed to take no time at all, though it had to have taken twenty minutes.

As they pulled into the Tribute Center, Desmond let out a breath. He knew that chariots wouldn't make or break him, but there was so much drama that he figured the other Tributes wouldn't get much more than a necessary mention during the aftershow. It was fine, though. He'd use all his energy when the interview came, and he'd ride that wave however long he survived.

The Escort approached, his hands clasped. "Oh you two looked just precious!" he said, petting their heads.

Desmond moved away.

"I'm surprised you could see us at all, with how much the cameras were focusing on the other Tributes," Ayana said.

"Well, it's not every year we have such an interesting Chariots! Come along, let's get you out of those outfits so we can have some dinner!"

Desmond sighed in relief. He had wanted to collapse into bed all day. They could go and eat, and then he could sleep. He had to get his rest, if he was going to have the energy for the days ahead.

* * *

 **A/N: Woo! Chariots! I hope y'all enjoyed them, I'm really excited to finally be on Capitol chapters.**

 **I just reread the chapters for the Chariot rides in THG, so I know that for the most part this** _ **should**_ **be in line with canon, not including the chronology shit that makes no sense in the book lmaoo.**

 **So as per my plan, the next chapter will be shorter with only one POV. I'm so excited because the Plot ™ is coming up nograingoringa**

 **Anyway, let me know what you think!**

 **Here's the chapter question that we're gonna find out the answer to soon:Why do you think Boden ripped his costume off? Was it to be rebellious?**


	21. Unspoken Rules

**Boden Clarie**

If the pure satisfaction of hearing the gasps from the crowd wasn't enough to justify ripping his costume off, the flabbergasted look on the Escort's face sure did.

"What in the _world_ were you thinking?" Marcella demanded, marching up to him.

The Mentor was behind her, arms crossed, but silent.

He shrugged. "The costume was bothering me," he said casually.

"You _ruined_ hours of your stylist's hard work! They're trying to _help you_. The costumes create enormous amounts of buzz amongst potential sponsors!"

"No offence, Marcella, but entertaining a bunch of Capitolites, even for the sake of sponsorship, isn't really high on my priority list."

The other Tributes were weaving around them, heading towards the elevators so they could go into the Tribute center and up to their floors. Marley stood aside, like they were scared of him — frankly, he liked it that way. They should be.

"Was that supposed to be some kind of act of Rebellion?" the Mentor asked, finally coming forward. "Because that type of shit doesn't fly around here."

Boden laughed. "What? Rebellion? No. God is that what you guys thought it was? I just _didn't like the outfit_. It's as simple as that. Now can we please go back to our floor? My feet are killing me and I'd _love_ to have some dinner."

Maxim pointed a warning finger at him. "If you want to have a chance to survive these Games, you'd better not pull any more of that crap, Clarie."

He smiled and brushed xer hand aside. "I'm not afraid of the Gamemakers. Or you, or the _president_ , for that matter; I'm doing what I want. I don't _care_ what they do to me. It's not like they can do anything more than kill me."

Bored with the conversation, he pushed past the adults and went to the car, opening the door and getting in. But it seemed like they weren't done lecturing him.

Marcella climbed in and sat across from him and Marley, and Maxim slid in beside her.

"Boden, I understand you're somewhat of a… free spirit," Marcella began. Obviously she was trying to play the Good Cop role here. "And I'm not sure exactly how you operate in District Six, but here in the Capitol there are rules. And some of those rules, while… unspoken… are specifically created for the Tributes, in order to ensure that the Hunger Games are the glamorous events they are."

Boden heard Marley snort under their breath and glanced out of the corner of his eye at them.

He returned his gaze to Marcella. "How are the Tributes expected to follow these rules when they're unspoken and this is our first time in the Capitol?"

Her thin lips turned downwards. "We don't usually have issues, all the other Tributes seem to know how to behave."

Boden laughed. "Not really. Baia Kel is pissed as hell to be here. Aven Traine openly admitted to hating the Capitol in his interview. Hell, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark—"

"We do not speak those names in the Capitol," Marcella interrupted him, waving her hand.

"Another unspoken rule?" he asked, his voice dripping with amusement.

"Unless you want to incur the consequences, Mr. Clarie, I would advise you to keep your head down," she said.

He raised his eyebrows. All these threats didn't mean shit to him. Kill him, turn him into an Avox, send him to prison. About the only difference between those options was if he was Avoxed, at least he'd be able to start murdering these sappy people.

"Just keep your head down and be a good little Tribute until the Games," Maxim said, leaning back in xer seat. "Feel free to stand out, but do it in a way that doesn't come across as rebellious."

"I assure you," Boden said. "Being rebellious is the _last_ thing on my list."

As they shot up in the elevator, the group of them was quiet. There wasn't much to talk about, now that he had been thoroughly chewed out.

He immediately went to his room, tearing off the rest of his costume and getting into the pajamas provided for him.

He didn't really want to go back out to the others, but he knew he should probably watch the chariots, and he was fucking hungry.

So he came out and sat on the couch with a huge plate of food in his hand, smiling to himself in amusement as the others slowly and subtly shifted away from him.

The Chariots were about as dull as every other year, minus a few interesting bits. His was the one that was the most scandalous, got shocked gasps from the commentators. He felt himself well up with pride; he hadn't really been out to make an impression, but he was glad now that he had.

The next interesting thing to happen was the kid from Ten throwing up everywhere.

Maxim seemed surprised when his counterpart knelt down and tried to comfort him.

Although the District Partners weren't adversaries like they used to be, it was still somewhat uncommon for there to be any real compassion or familiarity between them. They partnered up a lot of the time, because there was safety in numbers and what was the harm if you could both go home, but that type of stuff this early on was a weird strategy.

"Maybe it's not a strategy," Marley said quietly. "Maybe she was just worried."

Everyone was outshined by Baia Kel though. This wasn't a surprise.

Everyone in the Capitol was falling over themselves swooning for her, for the tragedy, the _drama_ of it all.

"I heard there was even a petition to send her home and bring someone else in," Marcella said, watching as Baia's steely eyes betrayed how she really felt beneath her winning smile.

"That'd never happen," Maxim replied.

If anyone was going to rebel, it was her. She had the most reason of anyone, he supposed.

After the recaps were over, they were dismissed to their rooms for bed. Maxim told them xe would want to see them bright and early tomorrow, though, in order to give them advice about the next three days. From the moment they were Reaped up until they died or won, everything was part of a strategy, but the Training sessions were when everything kicked into high gear.

Boden collapsed into bed and contemplated who he'd kill first, and how. He wished he could get away with getting rid of one of these stupid Avoxes. He knew he was probably being monitored at all times, even though the footage was never shown. He'd be caught before the body even cooled.

He fell asleep entertaining fantasies of bloody glory in the Games.

* * *

 **A/N: So this was another look at Boden who… will probably be very interesting to write during the Games.**

 **Next is going to be the first day of Training, with Dazzle and Keiynan's POVs.**

 **For the Chapter Question ™: how far would you be willing to go for rebellion if you were a Tribute?**

 **Let me know what you thought of this chapter!**


	22. Oh So Lovable: Training Day One

**Dazzle Brightsong**

The longer Dazzle spent in the Capitol, the more she hated the Games. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if she weren't here alone, without Kinnick, but the closer the inevitable Games came, the more anxiety she felt.

As she woke up on the day of the first Training, a heavy feeling sat itself on her shoulders. She hadn't really left the District One floor, even though she knew she should have. She just didn't feel like it — everything since the Reaping had felt like it had been happening through a fog; she could barely force herself to be mentally present for anything. That would have to change, starting today, if she wanted to have any hope of surviving and getting back to Kinnick, her family, and her friends. She would have to start looking for allies, anyone so she could avoid being a part of the Careers. She didn't know if any of the outer-District Tributes would be able to see past the fact that she was from District One.

She went out into the common area on their floor and saw that Peri was already up, eating a huge omelette served to them by an Avox.

She went over to the table and sat down, looking at her own pile of eggs distastefully. She knew if she didn't eat she'd be miserable later, so she forced herself to slowly spoon the stuff into her mouth, trying to ignore the texture.

She looked up as the door opened. Macaron came in, her face looking like a mask of makeup. The only reason Dazzle recognized her at all was because she was pretty sure no one else in the Capitol had hair like hers.

"Good! You two are already awake!" she trilled. Following behind her were the Mentors, and Dazzle felt her expression sour. She didn't really like them. They were textbook Careers, and both of them seemed to regard her with mild distaste at all times.

"Finish up your breakfasts and then we can take you down to the training center! Today is an important day, after all."

Dazzle sighed as she finished shoveling eggs into her mouth and downed her glass of orange juice.

She went back to her room and bathed before putting on the clothes the Capitol provided for them.

She followed Peri and Macaron as they went to the elevator, crossing her arms and shutting her eyes. It wasn't a very long descent, since the Training center was below the garage which was below the lobby which was below the District One floor.

As they emerged into the cafeteria-like area, she looked around, trying to keep her mind off of what exactly it was she was training for. If she could, she wanted to avoid killing anyone in the Games, but she knew it would be hard to win without it. She supposed she would just have to get over it, if she wanted to get back home.

They went into the training center, a huge square room with stations set at intermittent distances in rows. On one side of the room, with a view of the whole center, was the Gamemaker's seats.

Dazzle felt her heart clench.

She had to remember that not only was she working to prepare herself for the Games, and trying to find allies, she was also trying to impress the Gamemakers. The Capitolites would have their eyes on the Career Districts, since they always got the highest sponsorship pool. If she wanted to have an edge, she would have to make sure she was in the sponsors' eyes too.

"Good luck, work hard you two!" Macaron said. She waved before disappearing behind the doors. Dazzle saw into the common area that more and more of the other Tributes were emerging from the elevators and approaching. She looked up at Peri, tempted to follow them around, but ultimately deciding against it.

She took an internal inventory of her skills, thinking about what she needed to work on. Having been trained at the Academy, and ending up as the top of her class, she had been honing the skills that would get her far in the Arena since she was ten, but she knew she had weaknesses. Strength-based anything had never been her forte, so she went immediately to the climbing wall. She allowed the attendant to attach a harness around her waist before starting the climb.

The center got continually louder as more kids filtered in, and after she finished her third climb, she looked around her. Careers seemed to have gathered around Keiynan, the boy from District Two. He looked like he was going to position himself as the leader, and she kept that in mind.

Looking around, she saw that many of the other Tributes were alone or in small groups. She left the rock-climbing station and went to the next closest strength-based station, where she saw the little girl from District Eight. She couldn't remember jer name, but she figured a younger Tribute might be just as scared and desperate as Dazzle was.

She approached, smiling her kindest smile. It was the one that made all the kids in the poorer areas of the District feel comfortable around her. "Hi," she said, coming to stand near jer.

Jee looked up, eyes wide. Jee stepped aside, as if jee was afraid that Dazzle wanted past jer or something.

She frowned. "Do you need someone to spot you?" she asked, gesturing to the benchpress behind jer.

Jee glanced over jer shoulder and then shook jer head.

"No? You sure?" After a moment, she extended a hand. "I'm Dazzle, by the way. Dazzle Brightsong."

"I know," jee replied quietly.

Dazzle kicked herself. Of _course_ all the other Tributes knew who she was, she was probably a source of terror for them. "Do you have an Alliance in mind?"

Jee shook jer head.

"Me neither. What are you working on?"

Jee looked up at her again, suspiciously this time. Did jee really think Dazzle had some kind of angle? That she was trying to get the upperhand on jer?

"I'm just trying to get some skills," jee replied.

"Cool, cool. Me too. I'm trying to get stronger."

Jee nodded. "I'm gonna go to the plant station," jee said. Jee set the weights down and walked away.

Dazzle watched jer, sighing heavily. That had gone about as badly as it possibly could have.

She spent the rest of the time doing much of the same thing. She would work on a skill at a station, leaving the other Tributes alone, and then would go to a station with someone she wanted to talk to. She had much of the same results. It seemed as though her earlier anxieties had been correct: no one wanted to ally with the girl from District One. She knew she looked like an Academy kid, she knew what they all must have thought about her.

She had been considering all day whether or not she would stoop to the level of the Careers and ask to join them. She had decided not to. The thought of being around them, listening to them laugh about murdering other people, pressuring her to be a part of that culture, made her want to vomit. She didn't care if it would make it harder to win, she would either win or die with her morals.

Maybe come the Interviews, the other Tributes would see how different she was and they wouldn't be so scared of her.

She could only hope.

—

 **Keiynan Edgar**

Keiynan wished he could say he was confident as he made his way down into the Training Center. But from the moment he woke up to Darling's rhythmic tapping on the door, he felt such a heavy anxiety in his chest it seemed almost impossible to pull himself out of bed. But he had to. He did a few shaky push-ups to get some energy out, before showering and dressing in the outfit provided.

His partner, Mentors, and Escort were waiting for him when he emerged, running his hand through his hair.

As they shot the short distance downward, Keiynan spotted himself in the mirrored walls of the elevator and was briefly taken aback. He looked so old, so stolid, so fearsome. He looked like a Career, like the Tribute his parents had raised him to be.

"You nervous?" Macabre asked them.

They both shook their heads. "Why should we be?" Vernazza said.

"Well, you're probably one of the youngest Career they've ever seen, for one," he replied, crossing his arms.

She scoffed. "Doesn't mean I'm not as capable."

"Maybe."

There might have been more, but the elevator was opening and Darling was ushering them out, saying they would see them all later. Keiynan glanced at his District Partner out of the corner of his eye before crossing the open cafeteria to a set of double-doors — the only doors in the whole place.

Emerging into the training center, Keiynan glanced around. Vernazza immediately went towards the fire-starting station, and he wondered why she did. Was she just trying to get away from him? Was this part of her strategy? Was she planning in case she ended up by herself?

He thought about it more as he made his way over to spears. He wasn't agile enough for bows, not like Vernazza was, so he figured a spear might be his best bet when it came to long-range weapons.

Pair-by-pair, the other Tributes filtered in. Most of them stayed far away from him and his fellow Careers, none seeming brave enough to try a station with them. They weren't allowed to duel one another, or anything, but maybe they were afraid that any proximity would make them a target.

Keiynan still watched them though.

As the day wore on, he tailed a few of the other Careers, joined them at the station, gave them a tip on how to use swords if they were unfamiliar.

When the bell rang for lunch, they all congregated at one table.

Those who hadn't met introduced themselves to one another, but upon doing a headcount, Keiynan realized they were one short — the girl from District One. He looked around the cafeteria for her and saw that she was one of the few Tributes who were completely alone. Worse yet, it seemed as though the others were avoiding her like the plague.

He glanced over at Imperial, the kid who had greeted him when he got to the Tribute Center. He didn't really _want_ to talk to them, but he figured they might know why Dazzle was avoiding them.

He scooted down a few seats to sit beside them, which seemed to shock them.

"Oh, hi," they said, in that same unsure, wavering voice they had spoken to him the first time.

"Hi," he replied. He gestured in the direction of Dazzle, who was dejectedly shoveling food into her mouth. "Any idea why she doesn't seem to want to sit with us?"

Imperial shrugged. "I think she doesn't want to be a Career. After her boyfriend beat the other top kid to a pulp, she seems to be throwing a fit. I think she only wanted to come into the Games if he was."

Keiynan raised his eyebrows. "What?"

They shrugged again. "I dunno, man, but that really seems what it is to me. She barely talks to our Mentors."

"Well then, I guess I won't bother inviting her."

"Yeah, I sure wouldn't."

He flicked his eyes around the room and found them landing on a boy across the room. He was broader than Keiynan was, and looked like he was built like a car. "Which District is he?" he asked, pointing.

Imperial looked up, following his finger. "Um... Nine I think."

"He might be an advantage."

"Yeah, he might be."

Keiynan slid back into the center of the group and got everyone's attention. They weren't much of a talkative group, didn't have the rowdiness a lot of the Trainees at the Academy seemed to have, but they all seemed to get along well enough.

He subtly pointed again at District Nine. "I think he could be a good use to us," he said. "He looks pretty strong. If we don't add him in, he might be a threat pretty early on."

"We could probably take him," Mica said with a shrug.

"But I'd rather use him."

Mica looked over his shoulder at the kid. "Yeah, maybe," he said. Clearly, the idea of adding an outer-District kid to the Career pack wasn't one he was a fan of.

He wasn't the only one opposed either.

"Why do we _need_ another one?" Vernazza asked. "He won't trust us. He'll probably assume we'll just kill him once he's not useful to us anymore."

"What if we just tell him, when it gets down to it, if he survives that long, we'll all agree to go our separate ways — no stabbing in anyone's sleep or anything. He might trust us then."

"Maybe."

"I could always try and warm him up," Imperial suggested. "I'm _great_ with people. And I'm so lovable!"

Keiynan felt his eyebrows shoot up.

"You really think you're any more approachable than the rest of us?" Riva asked.

They shrugged. "I dunno, maybe," they said.

Riva was about to say more, but Imperial was already up and crossing the room, plunking their tray right across from the other boy's, who looked up in shock.

Kieynan blinked. They sure were persevered, he had to give them that. Maybe he shouldn't have judged them as harshly as he did when they first met. Who knew; they was fast, willing, and — he hated to admit it — likable, so at the very least they'd be an asset when that gong went off.

* * *

 **A/N: Woo! Training day one is up! I hope y'all enjoyed this one.**

 **CQ: do you think Sammy will trust the Careers enough to join them? Do you think the Careers are stable enough to include an outer-District kid?**


	23. Already Lost

**Dazzle Brightsong**

Dazzle felt like she had twenty-pound weights hanging off her shoulders as she trudged out of the Training Center and up the short elevator ride to the District One floor. It wasn't a result of training hard, as she was used to exerting herself physically; no, what was bothering her was just how _hopeless_ her ally prospects were. She had probably approached close to every non-Career Tribute at least once that day — some she had asked twice — and all of them either turned her down, or just ignored her.

It certainly didn't help that Imperial was so fucking bubbly all the time. They should have some respect — they were here when it should be Kinnick here with her. If only he were here, then everything would be okay. She wished she hadn't been picked that day in the Square, she wished someone had decided that they didn't want to let the Chosen Tribute go in that year. She wanted to scream and throw things, but she knew that it would only make the Avoxes' jobs harder, and she didn't want to do that.

So instead, she quietly fumed all night, doing little in the way of making conversation over dinner, even as Imperial updated their Mentors about everything that happened.

Really, she should have been more careful, should be talking to the Mentors and trying to get on their good sides. After all, once she was in the Arena, they were her only lifelines to the outside world. It was entirely possible that they might decide she wasn't worth it and focus all their efforts into ensuring Imperial would win. They might do that already, since Imperial was a Career.

She barely ate, even though she was starving. She just didn't feel like eating. It was horrible, and the more time she spent in the Capitol, the less she wanted to go into the Games. She found herself thinking some of the things Jax said all the time, hating the Capitol, hating the people, hating the President, hating the Games. None of this was fair — not just to her, but to anyone. It wasn't fair that the kids in the Districts were being punished for something that happened over a hundred and fifty years ago. Hadn't they atoned yet?

"It's not about atonement," Jax would have said. "It's about control."

He was right, of course. She could see that now. How could anyone even think about rebelling when they had the Games to worry about? When the claws of the Capitol were always present, poised over their children, just waiting for an opportunity to murder them?

Dazzle realized she was crying, little teardrops falling into her soup. Imperial noticed this and whispered "You okay?"

She looked up at them, her eyes narrowed into slits. How _dare_ they ask if she was okay. Of course she wasn't okay! How could any of this be okay?

They seemed genuinely taken aback by the look on her face, as if they _didn't_ know that they had completely ruined her life when they had been chosen as the Tribute instead of Kinnick.

But they didn't back off. Instead, they just raised their eyebrows slightly, prodding her to continue.

"No," she answered, finally. "I miss my boyfriend. I don't want to be here."

"I'm sorry," they replied. Of course, that only infuriated her more because they did seem _genuinely_ sorry that she was so upset.

She shook her head and wiped her face. "Whatever."

She saw that the Escort and the Mentors were watching her. Her face flushed and she stood, storming off. She realized that this was the second time she had stormed away from dinner since they had arrived, which made her more embarrassed, but what was she supposed to do?

She changed into her pajamas and got into bed, curling up into a ball and trying to keep her anger inside. If she could just hold it until the Games, she might be able to use it to her advantage.

She drifted off, but was woken by knocking at her door.

She glanced out the window but couldn't glean from the light outside what time it was. The Capitol never got dark, not really. All the buildings and the streets were constantly lit up.

She stood and went to the door, figuring it was her Escort or something to yell at her about how she acted at dinner.

But it wasn't. It was Peri.

They seemed surprised when she opened the door, as if they hadn't actually expected her to.

"Um, hi," they said.

She raised her eyebrows.

"Right. Sorry. I bet you're wondering what I want."

"Yeah."

"You wanna like... go on a walk or something? You look like you need to talk."

She didn't want to go on a walk with Peri, but she _did_ need to talk. She sighed. "Sure, fine. Just let me get my shoes."

She crossed the room and slipped on a pair of fluffy slippers and went out into the hallway.

They went to the elevator and rode down to the lobby.

"We can't really go up to the other floors since the others are pretty much all asleep," they said. "But since the stairways are shut off, we could probably climb the stairs."

Really, climbing stair sounded like the _worst_ idea, given the state their muscles were in, but she shrugged. "Okay," she said. "I guess we can do that."

"I can show you the roof, too. It's not much, but it's got a nice view."

She sighed and followed as they started climbing the stairs at the other side of the lobby. "Why are you doing this, Imperial?" she asked.

She had been so mean to them, she didn't know why they bothered. No one would have blamed them if they hated her.

They looked over at her, as if surprised by the question, as if the possibility of _not_ doing this had never even crossed their mind. "You needed someone to talk to. I'm about the only person in this whole center that can be the person you talk to. Why _wouldn't_ I do this?"

"Because I'm — me. And you're you. You're a Career, the Chosen Tribute, the kid who wants to be here."

They laughed. "But _you're_ the Chosen Tribute. I was just third in line after the top two knocked each other out. I'm not anyone's first choice — look at me. I'm young, bubbly, I can never hold my attention in one place at a time. I'm hardly District One's poster child."

"I only ever wanted to go into the Games because my boyfriend did," she admitted. "My brother Jax probably hates me right now."

"I'm sure he doesn't. That would be kind of shallow, huh? Considering the reality?" They gestured around.

Right. Because she was probably going to die.

She shrugged. "I guess so."

"Dazzle, just because Kinnick couldn't come, and you don't want to be here, does that mean you give up?"

"I'm not giving up," she retorted.

They raised their eyebrows. "Seems like it. The way you act towards Macaron? And Brilliance and Dorimna? I'd think you have a death sentence."

"No, that would be stupid," she snapped. "I just refuse to be who Brilliance and Dorimna want me to be — I don't want to be—"

"Me?" they cut in. They didn't even look offended by the thought. More like amused.

"I'm not a Career," she said. "I'm not like everyone at the Academy. Surely you know that."

They shrugged. "Maybe. But none of that really matters now, does it? I mean... you're here. You're the District One Tribute. And even if you don't want to be here, that doesn't mean this has to be a death sentence."

"I'm not joining the Career Pack, so if that's what you're trying to do here then don't fucking bother."

"That's not what I'm trying to do," they said. "I'm just trying to tell you that you shouldn't accept being Reaped as a death sentence. No one besides the other Careers want to be here. They were all taken by force, just like every other year. They're not letting that change how they view the Games. They want to get home to their families, just like you. So even if you feel like you're better than me, or the other Careers, that doesn't mean you have to lay down and die."

She frowned and stopped on the stairs. They stopped a few steps up and looked down at her.

"I'm not making it back. Not without Kinnick. So why should I lose myself trying?"

They smiled, though it looked almost… pained. "You've already lost yourself, Dazzle."

With that, they turned and went up the last few stairs to the landing that led to their floor, disappearing behind the door marked with a "1."

Dazzle watched the door for a moment and then sank onto the stairs. What did they even mean?

She sat like that for a long time, her head in her hands, trying to understand what they had been trying to say, thinking of Kinnick, thinking about what he would say if he saw her like this, thinking of Jax, what he would say.

He'd probably tell her that if she was gonna go down, she should go down fighting. But how could she? She didn't even know if she would be able to kill, if the time came. How could she defy the Capitol in any meaningful way?

She must have fallen asleep there in that stairwell, because she woke up hours later to an Avox concernedly tapping her on the shoulder.

She looked around groggily and then hurried back to her floor. She had to get ready for the second day of training; maybe she would have better luck this time.

* * *

 **A/N: Woo! I don't have much to say here but yeet.**

 **Next is gonna be Training Day Two, with Dot, Sammy, and Denver as POVs!**

 **I hope y'all enjoyed this chap, I'm super excited about getting closer to the Games. See y'all next time!**

 **CQ: What do you think Dazzle's strategy should be?**


	24. A Pack of Predators: Training Day Two

**Dot Williford**

Dot kept telling himself not to be intimidated by the other Tributes, but the moment he walked into the Training Center yesterday morning, he felt his knees begin to shake. It seemed like every single one of them was faster, taller, bigger, stronger, more confident than him — about the only thing he could even think that he had to his advantage was his brains, and even those were somewhat unreliable. For all he knew, there could be kids twice as smart as him in this room. All he had going for him was what he had learned about technology and engineering from Ruby. He nervously twisted the ring around his finger as he thought of her, walking into the gymnasium beside Mira.

The sheer abundance of stations was overwhelming too; it had nearly sent him into a panic the day before, and he had spent a good ten minutes standing aimlessly around, looking for a place to start. He didn't think he'd ever be good enough at fighting to ever be able to defend himself, so he focused mainly on survival. It turned out that he was good at starting fires, and knots came easily to him. He tried to work on his climbing and his knife skills, as well as learning about how to find food in the wild. He could memorize things easily, so he quickly picked up on the exact appearances of edible plants, berries, and mushrooms. It was enough that he didn't think _all_ hope was lost, but he knew that if he ever got into a close altercation with another Tribute, he would almost certainly lose.

He was working closely with a coach to learn how to use a sickle when another kid came up beside him. If he remembered correctly, this was the boy from District Twelve, Desmond. He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye — losing his sparring match in the process — but tried to make sure it was subtle so Desmond didn't realize he had done it.

"You struggling with the combat?" he asked.

Dot felt his face flush as he shrugged. "I'm not the most imposing kid in here," he said, his voice so quiet he was amazed Desmond could even hear it.

"I saw you at the edible plants station. You've got a knack for foraging."

"Too bad I can't forage someone to death."

"Well, I've seen plenty of Tributes poisoned before." He smiled, and it was so casual and charismatic that Dot couldn't help but return it.

"Yeah, I guess that's true," he said.

He stuck his hand out. "My name's Shard."

Dot eyed the hand suspiciously. "I thought your name was Desmond."

He rolled his eyes. "Desmond's my first name. Shard is my last name."

"You go by your last name?"

"Everyone calls me Shard."

"Right." Finally, he reached out and shook the hand. "I'm Dot."

"I'm trying to get an alliance together, Dot," Shard said, picking up a sickle and eyeing it. "The Tributes some people might not think are worth it. The young ones, mostly."

Dot raised his eyebrows.

Seeing this, Shard discarded the sickle and refocused on him. "It seems to me that if you're under fifteen, you're seen as a weakling, someone who's going to get offed in the Bloodbath. I've seen younger ones make it pretty far, though. I think more could make it farther if they weren't by themselves. If they teamed up with others who could round out their skill sets. I can fight okay, I've been in more than a few scrapes myself, but I'm horrible at identifying those plants and bugs and stuff. I think you'd be a real advantage to have with me."

Dot frowned. Did he actually know how old he was? If he remembered correctly, he was actually _older_.

"I'm not a young kid," he said.

Shard's eyebrows shot up and there was a brief flash of panic in his eyes. "What?"

"I'm fifteen."

Dot could practically feel the cogs turning, and then watched as Shard forced his face into a wide smile. "Really! Well hot damn, dude, I thought you were like, thirteen."

Was he imagining it? Or was Shard _actually_ sweating.

"Nope. I'm fifteen."

"Well." He shot finger-guns at him. "Lookin' good, man."

He eyed him for a moment. He didn't seem nearly as big and tough as some of the other kids here, but he wasn't a shrimp like Dot was. He decided to let the thing about the age go. "Who else did you have in mind besides me?" he asked.

Shard cast a glance around the gym. "Well, Gavin is pretty fast, and he seems like he can handle a knife pretty well. Kaia Bock, from District Eleven, seems like a good enough pick."

"And together you think the three of us might be able to make it decently far?" He couldn't help but doubt. They weren't exactly the most formidable group out there, and from what he had observed, none of the others could do more than hold a knife with any sort of competence, and three days wasn't long enough to learn.

Shard shrugged. "The way I figure, if enough of us make it out of the Bloodbath alive, we can hide out and let the others kill each other. Then, when the time comes, we can separate peacefully and let the rest of the Games fall as they will."

Dot looked past Shard, into the far wall of the training center behind the camouflage station, though he barely saw anything. Really, there _was_ safety in numbers. If he was going to survive, joining an alliance was probably his best bet. And Shard was right, he wasn't exactly a projected winner, not by himself, at least. He looked up at him again and nodded. "Okay," he said. "Allies."

"Great!" Shard said, visibly pleased even underneath his cool demeanor. "Come along with me Dot, and we can go and gather up the rest of our merry band."

Merry band? Really?

Deciding not to comment on it, Dot followed him as he walked across the room to where Kaia Bock was working dejectedly on a snare trap meant to catch large prey.

Desmond knelt in front of her, as if examining the tight knot she had made in the thin wire thread. "I think you need to do another loop on this one," he said.

Kaia looked up at him and frowned, but did as he told her.

"I'm Shard," he said to her, smiling in the same way he had smiled at Dot.

Dot wondered, briefly, if he had just made a terrible mistake.

* * *

 **Sammy Cookson**

It took Sammy a good six hours to shake the gooseflesh on his arms that sprung up whenever he thought of the District One Tribute plopping their lunch tray right across from his the day before. It was horrifying, really, especially considering his brother's untimely end in the Games.

But this Peri kid didn't seem to be hiding anything — really, it just seemed like they viewed this as some kind of school trip, rather than the Hunger Games, where they were supposed to fight to the fucking death. If anything, they just seemed dumb and sincere.

But that didn't stop the nightmares that came to him that night, having to rewatch his brother's death over and over again, had to think about the inevitable questions he was going to get from the interviewer.

And the next morning, when the group of Careers meandered over to the station he was training at, it made him flinch, and the overwhelming, prey-like instinct to flee caused his anxiety to flare up.

He forced himself to stand his ground though; if these kids wanted to frighten him, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of showing it.

So instead, he continued to toss his spear at the dummy, trying and failing to hit it with any sort of accuracy.

"You're never going to hit it if you keep arching your arm like that," a voice said from beside him. It was so close he gasped and dropped the weapon.

He looked over and saw that it was Keiynan, the boy from District Two. He was watching him, and although his voice had been casual, his face was an impenetrable wall.

Sammy swallowed hard, searching for his voice. "What would you suggest?" he asked. If this guy was going to insist on bothering him, at least he had the opportunity to learn something.

"You have to keep your arm at a consistent angle," he said. He circled Sammy and picked the spear up off the ground. He drew an invisible line with his index finger along the curve of his arm all the way to the deadly tip of the spear. "If you waver at all in your form, it's going to throw off the whole thing." With a twitch of his dark forearm, he launched the spear in a perfect, deadly arc, where it skewered the dummy straight through the red target painted on its chest. Sammy gulped.

Of course he was perfect at it; he had been trained since, what, eleven? to be the perfect Career, the ideal Tribute, someone who could and would win these Games, no matter the cost.

"Thanks for the tip," Sammy said. He was surprised to find that his own voice was cool and nonchalant.

To his amazement, Keiynan actually _smiled_. "Anytime," he said. But he didn't leave.

Sammy had assumed that their conversation was over, so he picked up another spear after the instructor had retrieved the one Keiynan had thrown.

This time, implementing the advice he had been given, he managed to hit the dummy where its kidney would be.

"Still a kill shot," Keiynan said. "Work at it a little more, and you'll be as deadly as anyone."

Sammy glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Why wasn't he leaving?

He suddenly became aware that the other Careers hadn't left either, nor had they picked up a spear to practice. Instead, they stood in a half-circle around him, just... watching.

Somehow, Sammy figured that this was connected to how Peri had sat with him the day before.

"What do you want?" he heard himself ask. His voice was like iron, much harsher than he thought it had ever been.

Keiynan glanced at the others. "We wanted to put forth a proposition," he said.

He raised his eyebrows. "You want me to join your pack?" he asked. He hadn't _tried_ to spit out the word "pack," but he supposed he couldn't avoid the bitter taste it put in his mouth. They were a pack, after all; a pack of predators, of coyotes, the kind who would attack chickens and leave families without a source of food. The type of predators who would kill with smiles on their faces. The type of predators who were responsible for the murder of his brother.

Keiynan seemed just as surprised by the anger as Sammy was. He took a step back and put his hands up, as if in surrender. "You can say no if you want," he said. "We just thought you might be a good addition."

"Right, use me for the first week and then kill me in my sleep?" He chucked another spear. Hard. "I'll pass."

"We weren't planning on doing any of that," he replied coolly. "We may be Careers, but we do have manners. Well, most of us, anyway. We all already had an agreement that there wouldn't be any infighting until at least the final ten. If, by then, we feel like we can't be a cohesive group anymore, we split up and go our separate ways. Any time after that though is fair game."

Sammy frowned. "Careers don't usually let outer-District kids in."

"Well, can't say it was the popular decision," he replied, sending a glance out of the corner of his eye. "But I'm the unspoken leader, so they're following my advice."

Sammy turned and glanced over the Careers. None of them — except maybe Peri — looked quite thrilled about the idea of adding him, which only added to his unease. But he supposed if he didn't agree now, that would make him a target. He supposed if worse came to worst, he could just run off in the night and hope they didn't hunt him down to take vengeance for his betrayal.

"Alright," he said. "I'll think about it."

To the Careers, of course, that meant a resounding "Yes" and he was all but forced to sit with them at lunch to talk about strategies.

They really started early huh? They were already assigning jobs during the Bloodbath based on everyone's skills. It was decided that Peri, being the fastest, would run to the Cornucopia, grab weapons for the rest of them, and then would guard the mouth while the others took as many out and kept them as far away from Peri as possible. The rest of them would be staggered based on their weapon skills — Vernazza would be closest to the mouth with her bow and arrows, for instance. Once the rest of the Tributes had cleared out, they'd pick over the supplies and then move away from the carnage for the hovercraft.

"The rest we can save until the first night," Keiynan said.

"You think about this a lot do you?" Riva asked, raising her eyebrows.

She was weird, that one. She didn't have the look that followed the usual Careers around, and she had beaten the other girl who was supposed to go in. She must not have trained at the Academy, and had joined the Careers because she thought it was her best bet.

In response to her question, Keiynan shrugged. "My parents were Careers who never got a chance at the glory. So they're trying to live vicariously through me. I've had Games strategies drilled into my head since I could walk."

He couldn't help the feeling of pity that welled up in him. He couldn't imagine being raised to be a savage like that. He almost wondered what was worse — being trained to be a Career, or being an outer-District Tribute, who killed without choice.

He pushed those thoughts away, though. That came dangerously close to sympathizing with these monsters, and it would only make his life more confusing in the end. It was best to ignore any sympathy they might deserve, if he wanted to have any chance at making it back home.

As they all filed back into the gymnasium for the second half of the day, he glanced into the Gamemaker's box. They had hardly paid any attention to the Tributes for both days, and Sammy was starting to wonder why the hell they were even here. Surely they'd be happier off having parties or planning more ways to kill children. He hated the Careers, sure. He hated the Capitol, sure. But he hated the Gamemakers most. They were the ones who orchestrated this, who pulled the trigger. They didn't have to take this job — but no, they enjoyed it. It was all limelight and congratulations and art to them. They had that luxury. It was the Gamemakers who deserved to die, not them.

* * *

 **Denver Teikell**

Denver didn't really know what he was doing. He _knew_ that he should be taking this seriously, that he should be stressed. But mostly, he was just confused, aimless. He wandered from station to station, would stand there for a half an hour, never getting better at anything, not really absorbing a lot of the information, before he'd move on. He didn't know what exactly was keeping him from learning, or why it didn't really seem to bother him. Maybe he was still in shock. Of course, that meant that eventually the other shoe would drop; eventually, the reality of all of this would settle in, and then where would he be? A sniveling mess on the floor of his room? Would he, in a moment of panic and weakness, jump off his plate and blow himself to smithereens? Or would he settle into this new place, where there was only the Games, where it was kill or be killed, survive or die, and become a person he didn't know he had inside of him?

That should have stressed him out _more_ , thinking like that. But really, he was curious. When would it happen?

It wasn't like he hadn't felt the fear, the horror, the pain. He had felt all of those and more, since the Reaping. But it had all been so distant — like it were happening to someone else.

Like he was just watching it on TV.

Right now, he realized he was at the rock-climbing station. Was there usually a rock-climbing station? He didn't know, they never showed the Training Center. He remembered his Mentor telling him that there are sometimes clues about the Arena hidden in the training stations. Maybe if he could pay attention, connect the dots, he would have an advantage, he would know what to expect.

After lunch that day he felt a little more present. He felt his mind screaming at him "You should be stressed! This is life or death! Idiot!"

So he started paying more attention. He kept a mental note of everything that he could, trying to find the secrets the Gamemakers had hidden in their training stations. It seemed like there were a lot of bugs in the food station, and more mushrooms than berries and herbs at the edible plants station — this suggested a swamp of some kind, maybe.

There had been swamp Arenas before. One in Denver's memory, at least. Although if he remembered correctly, they weren't very good because a lot of the time the Tributes died of disease or something before the others got to them. Made for a very boring year. But maybe the Gamemakers had found a way around this problem?

As he worked with a sword, he thought about possible strategies. He knew he probably wouldn't last in the Bloodbath if he actually tried to get near the Cornucopia, but he also knew he probably wouldn't last long if he ran away without any supplies. Usually the supplies were

spread out around the horn, with the value decreasing the further away from the danger they were. He wanted to get something he could survive with, and a weapon. Knives and the like were useful both for defense and for survival; you didn't need a fishing pole to gather fish necessarily, for example. He wouldn't have enough time while standing on his plate to decide exactly what to do, but he trusted his gut enough that he would leave it somewhat open — if it looked too dangerous to dart in, he'd run off, but otherwise he would grab what he could before clearing out.

His thoughts then turned to something a little more immediate: their private sessions. What could he do that would impress the Gamemakers? Really, all he had to do was something _passable_. If he had a mid-range score, he wouldn't have to worry about it effecting how the others saw him. If he got something ridiculously high or ridiculously low, it would make him a target. But he didn't have many skills. He was strong, sure, but what could he do to show that off besides throw something around? Maybe he could show off his rock-climbing abilities, or something. Whatever he could do to make sure he didn't put the Gamemakers to sleep.

Ugh, the thought of having to perform like some kind of trained monkey for these assholes made him want to barf — something he had been doing far too much in the past four days for his tastes.

Had it really only been four days? He took a moment as he finished chopping up a tough leather dummy to count on his fingers. The Reaping, the Chariots, the first day, and today.

Yep, that made four. It seemed like so long ago his life was normal, that he had his whole adulthood to look forward to. Sure, it was horrible. His parents were the way they were, and life in the districts always seemed bleak — especially when you compared it to how the Capitolites lived — but at least he didn't have to think about how he was going to survive the Hunger Games. He had his best friends, he had the hope of one day moving away from his parents and being able to just be himself. But now he had to think about strategy and killing all these other kids and dying of dehydration. Not like he had any illusions about his odds. He knew he probably wasn't going to make it out.

Four days. He wondered how his parents were doing, how Marcellus and Rory were doing. He hoped they weren't too torn up over his Reaping. He didn't want the rest of their lives to be ruined by his bad luck. He knew it would though. He knew people who had lost someone to the Games. There weren't many of them in his part of Ten, but they had a look. He saw them sometimes, during Reapings, or when he was in town. He didn't want his parents and friends to become like that: haunted, silent, like living dead.

Suddenly, it felt like all the life had been drained from his body and he had to sit down.

Was this the other shoe?

He leaned his head into his hands, shutting his eyes, wishing he could shut out the whole world and just _not exist_ for two minutes.

"You okay?" the trainer asked.

Denver nodded. He didn't want the trainer's pity or concern. She was a Capitolite, she was working with them to make sure they put on a show. She wasn't actually sympathetic.

Eventually, he stood up and went over to the fire starting station. It was the second time he had been there, so the trainer didn't feel any need to talk to him. Denver was glad for the quiet, for the solitude. It almost made him feel better.

* * *

 **A/N: So this was training day two!**

 **The next chapter is going to be one of those intermittent ones, but there's going to be two povs for.. Reasons. Y'all'll find out lmao.**

 **Let me know what you thought of this chapter!**

 **CQ: Do you think Sammy is making a mistake? Do you think him accepting the invite from the Careers will be his undoing?**


	25. The Murder

**Dot Williford**

Dot and Mira were sitting in the main room of the District Three floor with dinner, watching one of the Capitol news channels. These channels weren't available at home, and it seemed to run more than the same old propaganda. It followed local headlines, which were all almost completely ridiculous and shallow. That was, in large part, why they were watching it.

Right then, there was something about some local celebrity having her two cents about Boden Clarie ripping his costume off during the chariots and how it was probably the worst thing to ever happen to her.

Dot's attention was withdrawn from the TV as he heard Manius come in on his ridiculous stiletto-heeled shoes.

But his voice conveyed only seriousness — as serious as someone could get with an accent like that. "You two need to get to your rooms right now," he said, turning the TV off and gesturing with his hands.

Mira stood up, frowning. "Why?" she asked.

Caupher also came in, his hands nervously wringing around one another.

"There's an emergency," Manius said. "The Tribute Center is being locked down right now, the two of you need to go to your rooms and stay there!"

Dot glanced at Mira before going quickly to his room. As he shut the door, he heard a metallic /click and he knew that it had just been locked from the outside.

Immediately, he started feeling claustrophobic. He rushed to the window, looking down into the street. It was crowded with people, and the bright white cars of the Peacekeeper teams were parked outside. He whirled around, looking for a TV, looking for answers.

There was a small TV in the wall across from his bed. He hadn't used it yet. He didn't really have a lot of time to watch anything besides recaps of the Games preparation, and this set didn't get the Capitolite channels he and Mira had in the other room.

He found the remote sitting beside it on a small shelf and turned it on, making sure to keep the volume low so Manius wouldn't come in and tell him to turn it off. A newscaster, a different one from the program he had been watching with Mira before, was standing in front of one of the tall candy-colored buildings. Behind her were several more Peacekeeper cars and a throng of people.

"We're here at Midtown Towers where Peacekeeper forces are fighting through the chaos to secure the crime scene, where Head Gamemaker Aeneus Ardensill was discovered dead by their fiancex Albia Sky earlier this evening."

The newscaster turned as there was a commotion near the front of the building. A group of Peacekeepers were wheeling a table out, with what could only have been Aeneus' body, covered in a white sheet. The newscaster was just about to continue her report when the TV shut off, along with his lights a moment later.

Dot heard the clatter as the remote fell to the floor out of his limp hands. He took a few steps backwards before stumbling and falling down. He didn't get up for a long time.

The Head Gamemaker was dead?

* * *

 **Albia Sky**

 **One hour ago**

Albia was starting to get worried.

Of course, it wasn't unlike Aeneus to lock themself in their apartment, turn off their phone, and go radio-silence for hours, especially this close to the Games. But usually that came with some kind of warning. And they were supposed to have dinner that night, so what was the deal?

Eventually, ve decided ve was just going to go to their apartment and chew them out for leaving vim with no message for hours. That was no way to treat their fiancex, that was for sure.

It wasn't a long ride from ver apartment to Aeneus', and as ve rode up in the elevator, ve checked ver phone again and called Aeneus.

No answer.

Anxiety was thick in ver throat as ve went down the hall towards Aeneus' apartment. Ve had been there just last night and everything had been fine — what happened? What was going on? Of course, this was probably just a horrible coincidence, and Aeneus was distracted or tired. There wasn't anything going on, surely.

But still, Albia couldn't shake the feeling that something was horribly, terribly wrong.

Ve came to the door and knocked. Once. Twice. Three times. There was no answer. Maybe they were out? Still, though, better safe than sorry, right?

Ve took out the key to Aeneus' apartment that they had given ver a few years ago. Ve opened the door and looked around. It was all dark. Maybe they weren't home after all, and had just... forgotten their phone.

"Aeneus?" ve called. There was a stillness, a silence, like a scream stifled in a throat. It was the kind of stillness that inhabited the Tribute center after all the contestants had left for the Games.

More anxiety, more fear wormed its way into vim. Ve went carefully through the apartment, clutching the key in ver hand in case ve was attacked. One by one, ve flicked on the lights. Where were the Avoxes? As ve made it to the bedroom, the tension in ver body got worse and worse.

That was when ve saw it. Laying on the floor, arms struck out on either side, one reaching out — for what, ve couldn't guess — and laying in a pool of blood on the pearl white carpet, was Aeneus. The love of Albia's life. Their eyes were wide open, terror and fear and pain permanently frozen into them.

There was no use, ve knew it, but ve couldn't help but collapse at their side. Ve called their name, checked for a pulse. Nothing.

That was when the screaming began. What else could ve do?

Ve must have screamed pretty loud because eventually someone — one of Aeneus' neighbors, or something — came to see what was going on, and called the Peacekeepers.

Albia stayed there, cradling ver fiancex's head in ver lap, sobbing and shouting their name. Eventually the Peacekeepers came to take the body away, but ve still wouldn't go. They took vim by the shoulders and all but dragged vim off, while ve kicked and screamed and clawed and shouted. No way were they taking Aeneus away from vim. Ve would die before letting them out of ver sight.

Eventually, though, they forced vim away.

Ve heard, as if through syrup, the President order for the Tribute Center to be locked down, for the Avoxes both from this building and the Tribute Center to be rounded up for questioning, for the Escorts to remain with their Tributes or else. When did she get there?

Someone must have given vim a blanket, or something, because ve was sitting on the couch in the front room with something soft around ver shoulders and a cup of tea clutched in ver hands.

President Oak was sat across from vim, hands folded together. She looked troubled, like she wanted to ask Albia questions, but she refrained.

Finally, though, it seemed like she couldn't take it anymore, or had ruled that Albia was okay enough to answer. "Albia, I want you to tell me what happened."

Ve looked up, tears falling down ver cheeks anew. "What happened?" ve repeated, ver voice hoarse and rough from the crying and screaming. "I don't even — I came here. I was looking for them—" Ve choked and President Oak rested a hand on ver knee in support. "What did you see?"

"Just... them. There." Ve looked up into the President's cool green eyes. "Why is this happening?"

"Albia, I cannot imagine what you're going through right now. But I feel as though I need to be honest with you: I think your fiancex was murdered."

* * *

 **A/N: Woohoo! Subplot! I hope y'all were at least surprised, and hopefully I did a good job writing this stuff lmao.**

 **So next chapter is going to be Training Day Three, with Clio and Ranine.**

 **CQ: who do you think did it? How do you think this will effect the Games, and Albia's performance as a Gamemaker?**


	26. The Mourning After: Training Day Three

**Clio Cosette**

The past eighteen hours has been probably the worst of her life. It had all started the night prior, sometime after six in the afternoon, when the whole Tribute Center seemed to go on lockdown. She and Gavin had been ordered to their rooms, and hadn't been allowed out all night. The lights in her room had gone off, and she wasn't allowed out for meals. Instead, food was piped in whenever she asked for it. She didn't even see one of those strange mute people come in to clean up. Still in the manic phase that had landed her here, she could do nothing but pace back and forth in her room and watch the commotion going on in the street below. Whatever it was, it probably had the whole Capitol freaking out.

Eventually, probably well past two in the morning, she had flopped onto her bed in frustration and fell asleep there.

She was woken at the usual time as Monte Dartmoor came to wake her, but as she emerged into the sitting room, she noticed something new: two Peacekeepers were standing at the door to the elevator. They hadn't been there before. She looked around, and saw that their Mentor wasn't there either. Weird.

She went to the table, and became aware of the tension in the room. Where was it coming from? Monte hardly seemed capable of feeling such an emotion, but she seemed tense.

Gavin emerged a moment later but stopped in his tracks upon seeing their new guards. He glanced at Clio, as if looking for an explanation, but she just shrugged.

Monte sat down at the table with them, her back ramrod straight as a pair of mute servants planted plates on the table.

"Where's Devon?" Clio finally asked, her curiosity winning out against her caution.

Monte's whole body seemed to clench. "He'll be joining us in a few minutes, I'm sure," she said. She didn't even look at the two of them, her eyes were focused on something far past them, but didn't even seem to be seeing them.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Devon _did_ show up. Only he came from the elevator, not his room, and he looked about ready to pass out. He had that same tenseness about him that Monte did, and sat wordlessly down at the table.

Breakfast was almost ready, and ten thirty was fast approaching, when Gavin seemed to get sick of the silence. "So, we have our private sessions tomorrow," he said.

"Yes, very observant," Devon said.

"Any advice?"

He laughed. It was bitter, derisive, almost _ironic_. "There's nothing you can really do for yourselves right now."

Clio blinked. What the fuck did that mean?

"So what happened last night?" she asked then. There was obviously something going on, something the adults weren't talking about. She couldn't help herself. Mania just took the filter off of her.

Monte pursed her lips. "There has been... an accident, involving the Head Gamemaker, Aeneus Ardensill."

"An accident? What happened?" Clio couldn't help the touch of satisfaction in her voice. Something terrible happening to the Head Gamemaker was every Tribute's dream. Monte's eyes shifted uncomfortably to the side. "We aren't supposed to discuss that with you children. All you need to know is that the Games are going to go on without delay, but that Aeneus will not be attending your training sessions. Albia Sky is taking over as Head Gamemaker."

Monte's words insisted that Aeneus was okay, just injured or otherwise unavailable, but the subtext said otherwise. Clio's gut said they were dead.

Good, they deserved it.

As ten thirty rolled around, Clio and Gavin gathered at the elevator. One of the Peacekeepers and Monte followed them down, leaving Devon in the front room, watching them with a strange expression on his face.

As she emerged into the Training Center, there was a bizarre energy in the room. The Tributes seemed nervous, of course — and understandably so - but there was something else. Clio's eyes went immediately to the Gamemaker's box. Sure enough, Aeneus Ardensill couldn't be seen, and their brightly-colored replacement was wearing the characteristic bright purple robes that signified ver newfound place as Head Gamemaker. Ve looked like ve was about to just fall apart. Ver eyes were red and puffy, and ve constantly had a glass of wine in ver hand. The other Gamemakers looked upset too, but not nearly so much.

Clio meandered over to the edible plants station, where three other kids were. The angry girl from District Seven, her District Partner — Cedar, she thought — and the young kid from District Eight.

They all seemed to be ignoring one another, quietly practicing their plants. Well, she understood why Cedar was quiet, since, if she remembered correctly, he was Deaf and didn't really talk much.

Distracted from Aeneus' absence, the thoughts of strategy now took over. If she wanted to have a chance in the Games — especially if her bastard brain decided to switch into a depressive state — she would need allies, and lots of them, probably.

She turned to angry girl and extended her hand. "I'm Clio," she said, in her friendliest voice.

The girl slowly turned and looked at the hand before her eyes flicked up to Clio's face. It looked like she was trying to determine whether or not she was going to hit her.

"Rosewood," she replied.

Jeez, she was a bristly one.

"So, how's training been? Are you nervous for your private sessions?"

She merely shrugged.

"Maybe we could exchange strategies or something."

Another icy look. "What?"

"I guess I'm saying we should maybe be allies. I don't think I stand much of a chance, and lots of outer Districts don't. At least, not alone."

She snorted. "I'll probably get you killed," she replied. The way she said it didn't make it seem like she was entirely opposed to the idea of being in an alliance.

"Oh, I doubt it," she replied.

"No, really, I will." After studying her for a moment more, Rosewood sighed. "If you're really sure."

"I really am."

Cedar was watching them, plants forgotten. He probably couldn't hear them, but maybe he could read lips?

Rose seemed to notice him and took out a piece of paper from the belt of her training uniform. It was covered in writing and had probably been folded and unfolded a hundred times.

She scribbled something down on it and handed it to Cedar along with the pen. He smiled and started writing back.

Rosewood gestured over her shoulder at him. "Cedar's joining too."

Clio was a little apprehensive with taking the Deaf kid into their alliance, but it would be cruel to deny it. Besides, maybe he would be useful, even if they had to deal with the fact that he couldn't hear.

"Sounds good to me." She looked over at the little kid, with jer shoulders slumped forward. Jee had been holding the same leaf for ten minutes, she realized.

"Do you want to join us too?"

Rosewood's face contorted into something akin to annoyance, but Clio wasn't going to let this angry girl dictate how she ran the alliance _she_ was putting together.

Jee looked up and then shrugged. "I don't have anyone," jee said quietly.

"Well, now you do." She stuck her hand out and tentatively the girl shook it. "What's your name?"

"Viola."

"I'm Clio. That's Rose, and Cedar."

Jee giggled. "I know."

Over the course of lunch, they managed to rope three more people into their group: Ayana from District Twelve, Marley from District Six, and Idalah from District Eleven.

Clio looked over the group she had managed to pull together and smiled to herself. There were enough of them that maybe they actually stood a chance — assuming not all of them died in the Bloodbath.

Something else happened at lunch that day: rumors started spreading about what happened to Aeneus.

"The news outlets say they were murdered," they were told. Some kid, she wasn't sure who — and that was probably for the best, honestly — said that he had seen the beginnings of a report last night about it, before the power in the Tribute Center shut off.

That would explain why the Gamemakers — especially Albia — all looked like they wanted nothing more than to dive to the bottom of a bottle. Rose actually started laughing, which was the most positive emotion she had seen from the girl. "I know _exactly_ what I'm doing for my private sessions."

That was more than a little concerning, and Clio was starting to worry about just how much she had meant it when she said she would probably end up getting Clio killed.

* * *

 **Ranine Montero**

Another day, another round of feebly — and ultimately futilely — trying to ensure his survival. The longer this went on, the less drive he really felt to actually try. He realized now, that his idiotic endeavor to Volunteer for the Games had been a horrible idea. This was all so much harder and overwhelming than he could have ever imagined. How could he have, even in two years while training as much as he could, hever hoped to compete with the Careers? They were all twice his size and probably three times as strong. Not to mention all of them had both of their legs. Ranine's crude prosthetic seemed to be working against him. He had had the damned thing for a year, and had long-since gotten used to walking around with it, but now, when he was trying to run or climb or untangle himself from a trap, it seemed like it always wanted to come loose, or slip him up, or twist itself around mid-stride.

He knew that he had to figure out what he wanted to do for the Gamemakers, though if the rumors were to be believed, the Head Gamemaker had been murdered and their fiancex was the new Head Gamemaker. He figured ve probably didn't feel very much like watching a bunch of malnourished kids perform underwhelming stunts. It just seemed depressing all around.

He didn't much feel like trying to impress a bunch of drunk and mourning Capitolites anyway.

He had resigned himself to being alone in the Games, even as he watched alliances form here. He didn't want to ask anyone, he didn't know if he could trust anyone enough to believe they wouldn't kill him off the first chance they got. Still, he didn't think his odds were much improved alone anyway.

He forced himself to disregard all of that, knowing that if he resigned himself to dying it would just make it harder to stay alive. _At least if I die my parents will have one less mouth to feed,_ he thought. Instantly, guilt washed over him. If he died, sure, his parents would have one less child to worry about, but they would have had to watch him die on screen, probably violently. That would ruin them forever.

He sighed and went over to the edible plants station, eyeing the strangely colored mushrooms and berries.

Someone else was at the station with him, working closely with the instructor. He thought he recognized him, but he couldn't remember what District he was from. Vaguely, his mind dredged up a memory of his Reaping; he had the girl who yelled for him, and the heartbroken-looking boy who must have been his boyfriend.

He tried to ignore him, pretending that he didn't even know he was there, but he found himself pulled in to the lesson the instructor was giving him. She was talking about how lots of plants evolved to be brightly colored to ward off predators, so usually if a plant was bright, it wasn't safe to eat.

She also warned, though, that some of the plants might be one of the Gamemaker's devices, meant to trick unknowing Tributes into eating them to poison them. This didn't usually happen though, she said. Ranine supposed that this was because a poisoned Tribute isn't as entertaining was a murdered one.

The other kid seemed to finally notice he was listening in, and moved over to make room for him. He didn't make eye contact, just shuffled over on his knees as he looked at the array of mushrooms in front of him. Slowly, carefully, he picked one up, flipping it around and eyeing it before looking up at the instructor.

"That one's safe to eat, but it's got a hallucinogenic chemical in it that would make you trip over yourself."

"Right, so not a good choice," he said, putting it back down.

Ranine remembered a time when the Gamemakers released a hoard of tracker jackers into the arena on the final four, and one of them was hallucinating so bad she jumped off a cliff. The other two nearly died by accident. He wondered if the hallucinogenic was as bad as that.

He looked down at the assortment of berries that he was kneeling in front of. A few of them looked familiar, like blackberries or cherries like they sometimes got as a treat back home. He picked up a blackberry and looked up at the instructor questioningly.

She shook her head. "That one looks a lot like an edible berry, but I wouldn't suggest it."

"Okay," he said, putting it quickly back down as if it might explode. He wiped his hand on his pants for good measure.

"A lot of the time berries that are white or yellow can be poisonous, so I'd stay away from those," she said, gesturing to a few of the plants in front of him. "Also, count leaves and look at the plants they're growing on. Those can clue you in on the subtle differences between two similar berries where one is edible but the other isn't."

She looked over at the other boy. "As for mushrooms, avoid red. A lot of red mushrooms are fine, but it's better safe than sorry."

He nodded slightly. "Okay."

Soon, Ranine decided to leave the station. The other boy watched him go, but didn't say anything. He made his way over to the bow and arrow station. He didn't think in his wildest dreams he'd ever get his hands on one, and he didn't know how to use it anyway, but he wanted to take a break. He figured his best bet was probably to try everything and at least learn how to handle the things. Anything could happen in the arena, really.

He was terrible with a bow, he found. The way he stood was all wrong, apparently, but it was hard to position his prosthetic the right way. He only spent a little while there before heading towards the traps and snares station.

He had been there for twenty minutes or so before he noticed that the boy from the edible plants station had shown up again. This time, he decided he might actually try and talk.

"Hey," he said.

He just nodded and gave a small wave.

 _Well that was short lived,_ he thought.

* * *

 **A/N: Woo training is finally over! After the intermeaning chapter (from Baia's POV), we're gonna have some of the private sessions, narrated by Albia! It'll sort of be skipping around a little bit, since I'm not going to show** _ **every**_ **Tribute's private session, just the ones that stand out for whatever reason.**

 **Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed this chapter!**

 **CQ: Now that all the alliances are together (the ones that are forming during training, anyway), which groups do you think will work out best? Which do you think are the weakest?**

 **(For those of you who don't remember, or for the alliances who didn't actually get picked up in the chapter, here are the alliances as they stand:**

 **Peri, Keiynan, Mica, Sammy, Vernazza, and Riva; aka the Career Pack**

 **Blake and Baia**

 **Ayana, Clio, Rose, Viola, Marley, Cedar, and Ida**

 **Shard, Dot, Gavin, and Kaia)**


	27. The Death of a Concept

**Baia Kell**

Baia rolled her shoulders around as she piled into the elevator with a couple of other pairs of Tributes. She hadn't really exercised a whole lot since she had gotten out of the Arena the first time, so her body was _definitely_ not a fan of the exertion.

She was hungry, too, and really all she wanted to do was collapse into bed in her room and gorge herself. If she weren't in an alliance with Blake, maybe she would have spent the next couple of days lounging around, living it up. But she had someone else to look out for.

The two of them had been spending a surprising amount of time together. Despite the fact that Baia really didn't feel like socializing much. When Ezra and Abdul had learned that she and Blake were in an alliance, they kept insisting they should spend as much time as possible side by side, that way they could get a feel for each other, see how the other operated under stress, what their individual skills were, what they needed to work on.

She got the idea that Ezra knew what her ultimate plan was — to sacrifice herself if it meant getting Blake out alive — and maybe this was his way of convincing her to give it up without actually _talking_ to her about it. He would know that to bring it up would just get them into a fight, and would strengthen her resolve. Maybe if they got close enough, he probably figured, Blake would be able to convince her instead.

She looked over at her District partner. She seemed so sad all the time. Angry, sure, but also sad. Almost hopeless. It made Baia's heart break.

This was why she hated the Hunger Games. More than the murder, more than the barbarity the competitors had to sink to, more than ripping children from their families, she hated how it broke them, before the gong even sounded. She saw the same empty, haunted eyes all around her. None of these kids had any _hope_. If, by some marvelous miracle, she would survive again, that was all she would see every year she came here to Mentor. The rest of her miserable fucking life it would be empty gaunt faces of literal fucking children who were resigned to their deaths. It made her want to scream and burn this whole fucking city down.

By the time the elevator stopped and opened, her hands were clenched into fists and she was grinding her teeth to keep from crying. It wasn't _fair_. How many times had those three words crossed her mind since she had been Reaped that first time? Too many times to count, she was sure.

She went directly to her room and took her clothes off. She programmed the shower to give her a massage, setting it on its highest setting and turning music up as loud as it would go — which wasn't very loud, of course — so no one would be able to hear her if she started screaming. Which, judging by how close to a panic attack she was, wasn't an unrealistic possibility.

After her shower, she sat in front of the window, looking out into the sky. It was so funny. Of everything that she had seen in the Games, everything that still wormed its way into her conscious, the sky when she had won was always there. But it wasn't terrifying, like a lot of the other images were. It was comforting. No matter where she was, the sky was always the same. The sky was the same for her here in the Capitol, and the same for Grayson and her parents back home. The moon she would see in the Arena was the same moon her parents saw. It made her feel connected to them.

There was a knock on the door and it opened. "Hey," Ezra said.

She didn't turn.

"Dinner's gonna come out in a few. You hungry?"

She shrugged. Instead of answering, she just said, "How's our sponsorship prospects going."

He shut the door and came to sit beside her. "Well," he said, stretching his legs out in front of him. "I got three new people tonight, but everyone's really waiting for the training scores and the interviews. I keep telling them that your alliance is really good, that you're going to be the scourge of the Careers."

"Careful there," she said. "You might do more harm than good, getting their hopes up like that." She looked over at him and smiled.

He shrugged. "Well, if that happens, I'll make sure that your approval rating doesn't drop. I'll figure it out. Abdul's working his ass off too, and we're collaborating pretty closely since you and Blake are working together."

"Make sure that she gets everything if we get separated."

He sighed. She knew he would hate her reasoning, but he couldn't deny that it made sense. Between the two of them, Baia was more accustomed to struggling in the Arena, was more likely to survive off of what the Gamemakers gave them. Blake would need all the help she could get in that respect.

After a moment more of silence, he stood up. "Come on, you putz. It's dinner time and I'm hungry."

She stood up, taking his hand and swinging it as they went out into the dining room. "Oh I'm sorry Z, I forgot how hard you worked today."

He laughed and bumped their shoulders together. "Asshole."

She went to the dinner table and sat beside Ezra. Abdul and Adrienn were sitting with Blake.

Baia watched her for a moment, dejectedly putting spoonfuls of soup and rice in her mouth. "Any idea what you're going to do tomorrow?" she asked her.

She looked up and shrugged. "Nothing that's going to get me a good score, that's for sure," she said.

"Well that's what you've got me for."

A little bit of a smile flashed across her face, but there was something to it that Baia couldn't exactly place. Some hidden pain that was new, that she hadn't seen before. It wasn't just the pain of being a Tribute in the Hunger Games.

"I wouldn't worry about your score," Ezra said. "So long as you look somewhat presentable, be at least competent at whatever you do, the worst you'll get is a six. And don't underestimate a six. A mid-range score is _good_. Sure, it makes getting sponsorships a little harder, but you're already at a disadvantage of that. If you got a high score, the Careers would see you as a target."

Baia nodded. "I got a five. Everyone thought I was harmless, basically."

"Well that was also part of our strategy."

"And there have been plenty of Tributes over the years who have won despite low scores," Adrienn pointed out. "Really, training scores doesn't make or break your experience in the Arena. I wouldn't concern yourself really, Blake."

This seemed to comfort her. She nodded and returned her eyes to her food, and didn't speak anymore.  
Dinner passed without much else of consequence said, and Baia returned to her room. Ezra came and sat with her for a little while. It always seemed like he had something he wanted to say, but could never find the words. She sort of understood. What was there to say, really? They had left that Arena two years ago thinking that they would be safe. Sure, they would have to deal with the trauma, and would have to watch as pair after pair of kids were sent to slaughter every year, but they would be safe, at least. They wouldn't have to worry about food, or shelter, or clothing. They had enough money to help other people in the District, and the gifts from the Capitol that were sent after they won had fended off starvation for countless families — at least for a few months. This was horrible, and the only word anyone could ever seem to think of to describe it was "unfair." But that didn't seem like enough. It didn't have enough fury in it, to describe what Baia felt. It was almost like... a betrayal. Not that she had ever trusted the Capitol, and, honestly, how could she be surprised that they let this happen? It was all a show to them. None of them in this fucking tower mattered, none of them were people. They were characters on a TV show, whose deaths you mourned but in the way you mourned a character in a book. The death of a concept.  
Ezra left to bed eventually, and Baia started getting ready to sleep herself. After all, she had to be at her best if she wanted to impress the Gamemakers.  
Then, something unexpected happened. Someone knocked at her door. She went to open it, figuring it was probably Ezra coming to share a bed with her so they could comfort each other. Ezra was plagued by nightmares almost every night, and while he usually had Lyla there to comfort him, here in the Capitol, he was alone. It wouldn't be the first time she had to hold him while he slept.  
But it wasn't Ezra.  
It was Blake.  
She was dressed in her pajamas, a pair of fuzzy, warm-looking slippers on her feet. She was staring at the ground when Baia opened the door, as if she was embarrassed to be there.  
"Oh," Baia said. "I thought you were Ezra."  
She shook her head.  
"You... okay?"  
Blake sighed slightly, and shrugged. Finally, she looked up at her, and she looked lost and absolutely terrified. Immediately, she wanted to protect her, wanted to banish whatever it was that was haunting her, making her look so frightened and unsure.  
"Can we talk?"  
"Yeah," Baia said. "Of course."  
Blake went down the hallway to the dark sitting room. Baia shut the door and followed her, frowning. Blake was kind of quiet, had been since she had been called on the stage, but this was a level of timidity that Baia hadn't seen on her before. It was almost unnatural.

Blake went over to stand by the couch, putting her hand on the back of it as she stared out the window. The neon light from a building across the street cast a strange blue glow over her. If Baia would allow herself to entertain these thoughts, she would have thought she was pretty. Ethereal, almost.

"So... what is it?" she asked, crossing her arms.

Blake sucked her lips into her mouth, a telltale sign that a person was holding back tears. She looked down and crossed the room again, putting more distance between the two of them.

"Blake, what's the matter?"

She let out a slow breath and then looked over at her. "I know, this is so, so stupid. I know I shouldn't do this, but I just... I've never been really good at holding things in. And I don't know if I can be allies in the Games without telling you this. And it's so, _so_ stupid, and I wish I could just turn it off, but I can't..." Something inside of her cracked and she turned away.

Realization was starting to dawn on Baia, and with it, a heavy dread set in her stomach like a three thousand pound weight. "What are you saying?" she asked. No way, no way could this happen.

"I'm saying... I'm saying that I've got this stupid kid crush on you, which is awful, and stupid, and horrible, and I wish it could be any other way, I wish it could be anyone else. I could handle it if it were someone back home, but now... I don't want to pull you into my bullshit, I don't want to make this any harder for the both of us than it's already going to be but -"

"Blake," Baia said. She didn't know what she wanted to say, didn't know what she _could_ say, but she just wanted her to stop talking. What could she say? Blake was right, really. This _was_ the worst thing that could happen. Which was fucking saying something, seeing as the past few days had probably been the worst, most nightmarish, unluckiest of Baia's whole horrible awful life.

Blake looked up at her, and in the glow of the neon sign she could see a tear running down her cheek. She felt the immediate temptation to cross the room and wipe if from her face.

Which was the _worst_ thing she could be feeling right then. Maybe she hadn't kept her emotions on lockdown as well as she thought.

"I don't... I understand wanting to tell me, and that's fine, that's not a problem but... what are we supposed to do?"

She shook her head. Her arms were wrapped around herself tightly and she looked away. "I don't know," she whispered. It was almost impossible to hear her, even in the silence of the sitting room. "I don't know what we're supposed to do. I'm not... I didn't think about what we were supposed to do, I'm sorry."

"No, no, don't be sorry." She did cross the room now, almost unaware she was doing it. She put her hands on Blake's shoulders. "Don't be sorry. I'm glad you told me." That wasn't true, but she wanted to do something to comfort her. "We just have to... think about what to do to move on. Which I don't think we should do in the middle of the night before private sessions."

"If you say so."

"Come on, let's go back to your room."

She wrapped her arms around Blake's shoulders and went back down the hallway, past Ezra and Abdul's rooms, past her room, and to the door to Blake's room. "Try to get some sleep," she said. "We can talk about it tomorrow."

She nodded, sniffling and wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "Thanks," she whispered. She avoided her eyes as she went back into her room.

When Baia was back in her room, she let out a heavy sigh and collapsed on the bed. She tried to contain her frustration. This _had_ complicated things. But she couldn't blame Blake for that. If she could control her feelings, she would. Baia knew this.

But how did _she_ feel? She had very pointedly avoided answering the unspoken question she knew Blake was asking because, honestly, she didn't know. She had thought she had ignored any and all relationships she could be forming here. The only person she let in was Ezra, and that was partially because she knew she couldn't bare to push him away. But had the short time she had spent with Blake been enough to form some kind of romantic feelings? She didn't know.

And why was she even entertaining this? Why would she be thinking about romance and relationships when she was about to go into the Arena _again_. Dating should be the _last_ fucking thing on her list of priorities.

If she did end up feeling the same way, or even humoring Blake's feelings, it would just be harder for her to watch her die. She couldn't.

She stayed up late into the morning, until the sun was peeking over the tops of the impossibly tall buildings in the Capitol, shining shafts of light into her room. She had been pacing off and on, trying to sort out her feelings. Emotions were always so complicated for her, and she was frustrated by them. When Ezra came in to wake her up, she pushed past him and went immediately for a cup of coffee. She downed the whole thing, not even caring that it scalded her throat.

Everyone was staring at her, but she didn't care. She looked at Blake, and she looked away. Baia sighed heavily. She didn't know what she should do.

Maybe she could ask Ezra for advice.

That would have to wait, because Adrienn was hurding her and Blake towards the elevator for their private sessions.

Great. She would have to spend the next six hours sitting in the cafeteria outside the training center with Blake, probably in horribly awkward silence.

Maybe that was her opportunity to talk.

* * *

 **A/N: gotta love that romance shit. Please forgive me, I know my romance writing isn't particularly great, but that's in part due to the fact that I'm aromantic and have no idea what love is! It's also because Blake and Baia have had one (1) interaction and it was on the trains, so I haven't been able to really… write their chemistry? Which is my own fault, I know. Something I've learned from this experience writing my first SYOT is that I don't have enough Capitol POVs to really give the Tributes the arcs I want, for those who have arcs. It'll be an interesting challenge to balance the Tributes who maybe don't have arcs during the Capitol and those who do in my next SYOT, assuming there's going to.. Be a next one.**

 **Anywhome. Next is going to be Private Sessions, from Albia's POV.**

 **CQ: What do you think Baia should do? How should she and Blake handle this complication going on? Do you think it's going to change their strategy in the Arena?**


	28. The Writing on the Wall:Private Sessions

**Albia Sky**

None of the Gamemakers wanted to be there. They hadn't wanted to be there the day before, either. Least of all the newly ordained Head Gamemaker Albia Sky. Yesterday, ve was drunk and mourning. Ve almost couldn't stop crying the whole time. None of the comforts of the others had been in any way helpful. Today, ve was mourning and hungover, on on ver way to being drunk again. The moment ve walked into the training center, ve went for a glass of wine.

Of course, no one would blame vim.

The others had all begged the President to allow a day or two, at least, so that they — especially Albia — could recover. But they were ultimately refused. "The show must go on, as they used to say," had been the President's somewhat sympathetic response.

She was doing all she could, Albia knew this. Ve also knew that to postpone the Hunger Games because of the murder would be a sign of weakness, which was absolutely unacceptable. So ve held it together for the cameras, almost to the point of seeming apathetic to the death of ver fiancex. But privately, whenever ve could spare it, ve was a wreck.

It bled into the social life, though, ve couldn't help it. Every night, ver newsfeed was saturated with interviews and headlines, all pointing out ver sagging shoulders, the dark pockets underneath ver eyes. No amount of makeup could hide grief.

The _last_ thing ve wanted to do was watch a bunch of half-starved kids swing weapons around and tie knots as they tried to impress them.

Ve took a deep breath, trying to pull vimself together. Ve had to make an effort, at least. The Games couldn't suffer because of this. It was what Aeneus would want.

As the first Tribute came in, ve felt ver resolve fading, and the temptation to call for something stronger than wine was growing.

Ve felt a hand grip ver arm. It was Laurentia, looking over at vim with worry. Had ve started to fall over? Really, it felt as though ver whole body were sagging under the weight of it all, that if ve stopped, even for a moment, ve would just wither away and die. That didn't sound so bad, really.

Ve sat down with a plate of food that wouldn't be eaten in ver hand, watching as this tiny kid ran around the track that circled the center. They were fast, sure. Fast was a good skill in the arena.

Albia tried to turn ver brain on, tried to put the Gamemaker's hat back on. Ve had been working nonstop the past two days, had barely slept, plagued by nightmares and the horrible emptiness in the bed beside vim. Ve had gone over statistics, flora, fauna, traps, mutts — everything in the Games, twice over, in order to stave off sleep. In sleep, ve would be alone with ver thoughts. It seemed as though it was finally catching up to ver.

As the tribute finished their third lap and stood expectantly before the viewing box, Albia waved a hand. "Thank you, Mx. Baines. You may leave now." With a tight bow and a goofy smile, they padded out the other side of the room. Moments later, the second tribute came in.

The next few tributes came and went. They were Careers, they were good, they were strong. It was all the same, wasn't it?

Private sessions were always boring, but this was different. Albia didn't just feel bored. Ve felt despondent, dissociated. It felt as though ve wasn't even there in the box. Ve was miles away, sitting in some sort of torrential ocean. It was maddening.

Ve tossed the food in the garbage and went back over to the table to get more as the boy from District Two threw spears. Ve still wasn't even hungry — ve just wanted to do something, to stand up and move. Ve didn't sit down after ve had gotten ver plate, instead just watching. He was good, ve had to admit. They always were. There was something in the way he arched his arms, the deathly stillness of his face as he did. This was a Tribute that wouldn't blink as he ended another's life. Ve made a mental note of that as ve finished ver second glass of wine.

He went, the next girl followed. She wasn't half bad either.

Albia perked up slightly when the District Three boy managed to actually do something beyond feebly stabbing a dummy. He took a metal spool of wire, created an intricate net with it, placed a dummy in it, and then connected it to the electric target range, effectively frying the dummy. The others murmured in approval, and the child's eyes lit up. Maybe there was hope for him after all, he would be thinking.

Albia doubted it.

The next few tributes blurred together as ve got deeper into a third glass of wine. None of them really made an impression on vim. The girl from District Four was surprisingly good at hand-to-hand combat. That wasn't really useful in the Arena against a sword or a bow, but it could save your life, ve supposed. Ve had also seen her as she trained with weapons. She would be good.

The other Gamemakers followed ver lead, drinking and getting exponentially sadder as the day wore on. Every fifteen minutes seemed like an eternity, and it was impossible to keep the facts straight. Ve hoped _someone_ was taking notes, because God knew ve wasn't.

A trident, an underwhelming display with a sickle, a trap that snapped halfway through and whipped the child in the face, a dummy destroyed by some unskilled knife tricks. Boring, boring, boring. Nothing really to write home about. The trident was impressive, but the kid was from Four, and the trident thing had been done probably once every three years since Finnick Odair graced this tower with his presence.

A boy beat a dummy with uncharacteristic fury, for an outer-District Tribute. Albia figured he would make an interesting addition to their Arena. If ve remembered correctly — and ver now-intoxicated brain wasn't exactly reliable at the moment — he had laughed after being Reaped. So while he might be interesting, he could very easily turn into one of those Tributes they had to kill off when the audience approval ratings went down. Sadistic Tributes weren't stylish right now.

At some point, Gerenne started crying, and ve found vimself holding his hand as he dabbed helplessly at his pooling eyes.

That was when the next tribute came in. She walked in with her head held high. She hadn't made any real impression on Albia thus far. Ve had long ago lost track of which District they were on, so she couldn't even place her that way. She went directly to the camouflage station.

Then, she came and stood right in front of the observation box. Albia didn't really pay attention, instead aimlessly patting Gerenne's hand while he sniveled.

Everyone perked up when she cleared her throat. She smiled. It wasn't a nice smile, Albia noticed.

"I don't really have a skill," she began. "So I figured I could talk, instead." She went to the front of the observation box, almost out of their view, and started writing on the wall below them. "No peeking now. Not until it's done."

Confused, drunk, and intrigued, everyone obeyed.

"Now I've never killed anyone, you see. I would think that's a pretty average statement for a lot of the District citizens," she said as she ran her hands along the wall. "But I've watched the Hunger Games all my life, obviously. So I've _seen_ my fair share of death. So the past couple of days, I've taken the opportunity to think about the many ways you can kill a person. There's poisoning, of course. Humans are so weirdly fragile; they eat the wrong plants, or a piece of meat that's just a few weeks bad, and boom! Dead as a doorknob. Falling out a window, or hanging, or being hit by a car — those will do just fine too, you know. And then there are the much messier ways. Bludgeoning to death, stabbing, dismembering, evisceration, beheading." She stepped back for a moment and looked at her work. "No, not quite done, I don't think," she said to herself. She smiled up at them all again. "I wonder what it's like to be stabbed? I suppose I might find out very soon. How do you think it feels, Head Gamemaker Sky? Do you think it hurts? Or do you think it feels more like... an opening up?"

Albia's face drained of blood and all ve could see was Aeneus, laying in a pool of their own blood. Three stab wounds. Ve had overheard one of the investigators say that the first stab was enough to kill them. The others were just for fun.

"I saw my girlfriend killed, you know. She was shot, right in front of me. Her and this old man. I never got to find out why he had to die. But of course, because she stepped in, it had to be her too. Don't you think it would be interesting if a Tribute shot another Tribute in the head? Then again, you don't really put guns in the Arena, do you, Head Gamemaker Sky?" She had gone back to painting, and Albia was frozen, ver heart beating in ver chest. "No, I suppose guns are too civilized for the Hunger Games. We just have to kill each other like animals."

She backed up. With a satisfied smile, she wiped her hands on her shirt, staining it with red. "Is that how your fiancex died, Head Gamemaker Sky? Like an animal?"

Albia was pulled back to the present at this, and ve stood up. The other Gamemakers seemed frozen, just as ve had been moments ago. Even Gerenne had stopped his sobbing. All were listening with horror to this tribute's words.

Ve opened ver mouth to send her away, to order the Peacekeepers to come take her, to have them beat her to death right there. Ve wanted to jump out of the box and wrap ver fingers around the little cunt's throat for her comments. But ve couldn't move, couldn't force ver tongue to move.

Her smile continued. Friendly, polite... manic. "You know what I think, Head Gamemaker Sky? I think they deserved it. I think you _all_ deserve it, for killing dozens of children every year."

"Guards," ve heard Laurentia whisper. "Peacekeepers."

The tribute bowed low. "You can look at my mural now. It's all done."

Reynaldo was the first to step forward, but after him, the rest followed. All leaned over the edge of the box. There were words. None of them could quite make it out. One by one, they descended from the box while Albia remained, stone still, in ver place.

There were a few horrified shrieks as the tribute stood by, and Laurentia called to the Peacekeepers outside, frantically.

"You know you deserve it," she was saying, though she was drowned out by the others. "Deep down, you know you're horrible. You know you're the ones who ought to be thrown into the Arena, the ones who ought to be shot in front of your loved ones."

The Peacekeepers took her by the arms and dragged her out, but her words continued to echo into the room. "I hope you all die! Die like pigs like Ardensill!" before the door slammed shut.

Her words continued to bounce around in Albia's head, replaying over and over again, and the images of finding Aeneus' body couldn't be dismissed, as if it had been plastered to ver vision forever.

And with that, ve fell to ver knees and broke down.

Ve didn't ever see what was written on the wall, but the others told vim later.

Beside a crudely drawn body lying in a pool of blood, made up garishly with red lipstick and eyeshadow, were the words "Death to the Gamemakers."

Avoxes came with cleaning solution to try and wipe away the words while the other Gamemakers stood around comforting one another. Albia stood by, ver whole body shaking. Ve was still in the middle of the panic attack that Tribute had sent vim into, and ve wasn't sure if ve would be able to hold it together for the rest of the Tributes. Were they even halfway through yet? Ve didn't know, and honestly ve didn't care. All ve wanted to do was go home. Go home and collapse into Aeneus' arms, where the things outside their bedroom walls didn't matter, where the Games and the spotlight and the interviews weren't important.

But of course, ve couldn't do that. Albia would never be able to do that again, because Aeneus was dead. Murdered.

Of course thinking of that only made vim panic more.

It was another twenty minutes until the wall had been cleaned up to the point where it was slightly acceptable, and the next Tribute was brought in. The writing hadn't been completely erased. The wall would need a new coat. Obviously the Tribute could still read it.

The child looked at the wall, and then up at the Gamemakers, before swallowing hard. Then he went over to the training dummy, picked up a shortsword, and started swinging noncommittally.

Albia just downed the rest of ver wine.

The rest of the Tributes came and went, and none of them really made much of an impression. One of the kids made an elaborate net trap, which would have been impressive if Albia wasn't on ver way to poisoning vimself. A desperate attempt at shooting a bow and arrow. A child built like a barge throwing punching bags around. Someone camouflaging the climbing wall to look like a canopy of leaves. Throwing knives that wouldn't hit a target the size of a building. Scythes, handled with some measure of competence. That girl must have been from District Eleven, then.

They took the wine away sometime past District Ten.

A girl attacking a dummy with knives something like ve would imagine a bird would attack a bear. Some skinny child tried to throw a trident around.

Albia noticed that two of the other Gamemakers had fallen asleep, and ve was almost to that point vimself. The other two were gorging themselves on a devil's food cake that had been brought in.

"Hey!"

Albia looked up, frowning. The Tribute was standing in front of their box, his hands on his hips.

"I'm trying to show you guys something, and you don't even have the good grace to pay attention? What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Your tone isn't appreciated, Mr. Shard," Laurentia managed out. She sounded as though she might throw up any moment.

His face turned stony. "It's your job to watch us and give us scores accordingly, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Then do your fucking job!"

Laurentia's mouth was set in a hard line. "Please continue your demonstration, Mr. Shard."

He huffed. "Thanks." He turned and started attacking a dummy with a knife. He was better at this than he was with the trident, but it was very, _very_ obvious that he had never so much as held a real weapon in his life.  
After he was done, he approached the box and bowed stiffly. "Thank you," he said.  
"Thank you, Mr. Shard, you may go."  
He quickly went to the elevator. Albia thought ve could see his knees start shaking as he left the room.  
"That took a lot of guts," Laurentia muttered. She was obviously offended, but Albia had to admit, he had a point. It _was_ their job. Of course, no one who really knew what was happening would blame any of them for being more than a little distracted, but to the Tributes, it must have seemed like they couldn't care less about them, about their survival. Ve supposed ve could understand the frustration. Most of the Tributes didn't have the courage to actually call them out on it.  
The next two kids were about as forgettable as the others, but a few of the others talked about how one of the girls had handled an alliance rather well during group training, and said that she seemed like a strong competitor. Albia just nodded along to their suggestions. Ve hadn't been paying very good attention, so ve was relying on ver teammates to pick up the slack.  
Maybe once the Games started ve could get lost in it, wouldn't have to think about ver grief.  
But of course, that was ridiculous. Everything about the Games would reek of Aeneus. Ve would see every bit of them, every little quirk that was unique of their design. Ve would never be able to escape their influence, so long as ve was a Gamemaker.  
Then, Baia Kell came in. She looked, as usual, less than pleased. She came in, all smiles. Albia could tell it was a mask though. It was the same look ve saw on ver own face nowadays. She started out by swinging an axe.  
During her first Games, she mostly used a knife, but she had been practicing much more with an axe, and she seemed somewhat confident with it.  
After about five minutes, she abandoned that and came to stand before the box. "I figure that's enough of that," she said. She smiled again. "No offense, guys, but you all look a little worse for wear."  
There was a hint of irony there, Albia could practically taste it. Surely she had seen the writing on the wall.  
"Well, we've all had a very exhausting few days," Laurentia said.  
Baia had always been a favorite of hers. Even though during her Games her District Partner practically carried them to the end as far as being charismatic went, Laurentia had been rooting for the two of them the whole time. She must have seen a little bit of herself in the exhausted girl from District Thirteen.

"I don't really feel like standing here for fifteen minutes trying to impress you with my, frankly, mediocre axe skills, and I'm sure you would all rather go home a little early than watch me. So, if you don't mind, I'll be leaving now."

Laurentia smiled and waved to her, and she left.

Albia knew that ver fellow Gamemaker was looking at this Tribute through rose-tinted glasses because she liked her so much, but ve could see how much she hated them all. It wasn't hard. Really, after so many years of being a Gamemaker, ve was used to it. Of course they hated them. None of them ever had the guts to say so. For good reason, of course, because the punishment was grave, as she was sure Rose would find out once the Games began.

As the door swung shut, the Avoxes immediately came in and started cleaning up, and the others started filing out, talking amongst themselves. They were supposed to reconvene in an hour to discuss scores before releasing them, and Albia really needed to go to the bathroom and have a breakdown.

* * *

 **A/N: So there was private sessions! I know it probably seems like I breazed/rushed through 98% of the Tributes, but honestly, y'all really don't want to go through and read the same thing over and over again, do you? I'm sure the Reapings gave you quite enough lol. Besides, Albia's drunk and in mourning, cut me some slack lol**

 **I probably wouldn't have even written this chapter if I didn't have Rose. I also wanted to give a little update on how Albia's doing following Aeneus' death.**

 **Anyway, let me know what you think! If you have any predictions about scores, I'd love to hear them!**

 **Next chapter is going to be from Sammy's point of view. He's going to be spending some time with the Careers!**

 **(Also, I want to make something very clear about Rosewood, because there seemed to be some confusion from the readership: she is not insane/crazy. She's angry and traumatized, and trauma effects different people differently. Nowhere on her form does it say that her girlfriend's death "drove her off the deep end" or whatever. To me, her response to the Gamemakers was no different than some of the ways Katniss responded to her trauma in the books, so *shrug*. It's been eating me for a while and I thought now would be a good time to mention it)**

 **CQ: Do you think Rose is going to regret doing what she did? What do you think the Gamemakers will do in response?**


	29. A Question of Innocence

**Samuel Cookson**

If there was anything Sammy had to be relieved about, it was the fact that the Careers were going to be done with their private sessions _way_ before he would be, so he wouldn't have to spend more than a few hours with any of them.

Of course, that was until Keiynan had the idea of hanging out on the District Two floor and having some kind of strategic get-together.

It was all Sammy could do to contain his groan.

He sat at the fringe of the group as they played some kind of Capitol card game Peri taught them all. It seemed as though, for the most part, they were perfectly happy with pretending he didn't exist. That was just fine.

Of course, while Sammy was relaxing in his solitude, that was when Keiynan came and sat beside him. This seemed out of character for him, seeing as he more often than not seemed to be some kind of impenetrable mask.

He looked over at him and raised his eyebrows. Surely he had something to talk about it he was coming over and sitting with him.

"Hi," he said simply. Then he looked away, as if regretting it.

Sammy blinked. "Um… hi?"

He let out a breath and then tried to restart. "I've noticed that you don't seem exactly _happy_ to be a part of our group," he said.

"Well. I'm not, really."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because if I leave you're all going to hunt me down and kill me first. I'm the largest threat to you, except maybe for Baia Kell."

Keiynan laughed. It didn't quite seem natural, coming from him.

"Nothing gets past you, huh?" he asked.

"I dunno."

He turned to him fully, something unrecognizable swimming behind his eyes. "Look. I know what you must think of us. But just try and get to know us as _people_ , not as Careers. We all cope with this bullshit in different ways. Just because we're volunteers doesn't mean we're monsters."

Sammy snorted. "Tell that to the Career who killed my brother," he retorted.

"Oh," he said. "I knew your name sounded familiar, I didn't realize your brother was in the Games."

He didn't believe him, but he decided it might be better to pretend that he did. "Yeah," he said. "So pardon me if I find it a little hard to look past that."

"Listen. I'm sorry about your brother. But I didn't kill him. Peri didn't kill him. Vernazza didn't kill him."

"No but you're going to kill others, you're going to kill other people's siblings, other people's partners, other people's children."

"Yeah? And we're probably going to die doing it. Look, I know you're an outer-district kid, I know you could never understand, I know how we look to you. But you have _no idea_ what it's like in District Two. The pressure… my parents were Careers who didn't get to go. So now I'm supposed to be the one to give them the glory. Do you have any clue how that feels?"

"No, I don't," he said. He looked into Keiynan's eyes, and saw a surprising amount of earnestness in them. Did he really believe that he was innocent in all of this? That he wasn't playing right into the Capitol's Games?

But how was he any better really? He wasn't going to lie to himself. If he had to when he got into the Arena, he would kill people. He would do whatever he could to get back home, to make sure his family didn't have to lose _another_. He wasn't proud of it, but in the Hunger Games, there was no noble sacrifices. You either tried to win or you gave up. So maybe Keiynan was right… maybe this was all just how they coped. Life wasn't exactly easy, even in the Career Districts, even for the Capitol's lap dogs.

Keiynan sighed and leaned his head back. "Listen, I dunno if you'll listen to me. But just think about it. And try not to act like you hate us. The others are already suspicious of you. The last thing you need is a bigger target on your back."

With that, he stood up and rejoined the group.

He caught Peri glancing at him and frowned. This was probably the _weirdest_ group of Careers he had ever seen before.

Later, when they all sat in front of the TV as the opening for the training scores started — this was Peri's idea, of course — they came and sat next to him, flashing a wide grin at him. "How do you think you're going to do?" they asked.

Sammy shrugged. "Fine, probably."

"Yeah, none of the Gamemakers seemed too interested today, huh?"

"They looked downright panicked when I went in there," he said. "There was something written on the wall, but it was too smudged for me to read. They must have washed it off." That was a lie, but he didn't know if he was supposed to talk about it, nor how these people would respond to the news.

He realized all the others had stopped their conversations and were looking at him like they expected him to explain. "It — it looked like it said…" He trailed and glanced nervously at the Peacekeepers stationed by the elevator doors. Then, he glanced around at his captive audience. He figured the consequences for talking about it couldn't be much worse than the consequences for keeping quiet. "It looked like it said 'death to the Gamemakers.'"

They all stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Who has the fucking _balls_?" Riva whispered.

"We'll probably know when the scores come out," Keiynan said gravely. "They'll either get a low score, or a high score."

"Depends on what the Gamemakers want out of it," Mica agreed.

"I don't follow," Sammy said.

"If they give them a high score, they're making them a target. That means they want us to go after them. If they give them a low score, they want us to underestimate them, so that they can take them out."

"If they give them a low score, like an averagely low score, how can we pick them out from the others?" Vernazza asked.

"Because they'll stand out. One of these things is not like the other. If all the other low-scored kids are weaklings, and one of them is capable, we'll know who it is. Besides, if they have a low score, it doesn't really matter if we know who it is or not. Let the Gamemakers have them."

Sammy felt a cold shiver run up his spine. He would almost rather be killed by one of the other Tributes, than whatever sick shit the Gamemakers got up to.

He couldn't help but pity the poor bastard who had drawn the Gamemaker's wrath. Though, he supposed, that meant they would be distracted, at least for a little while. Maybe it would be the thing that gave Sammy an extra day to live.

* * *

 **A/N: Sooooo another short interim chapter. I hope this was okay! I just want to showcase Sammy and the Careers a little more, so that the whole group doesn't seem suddenly super chummy for no reason, if that makes sense.**

 **Anywhom, next we'll have the Training Score results, narrated by Vernazza, Riva, Gavin, and Viola.**

 **Let me know what you thought!**


	30. A Year of Underdogs: Training Scores

**Vernazza Riveriera**

Vernazza's heart was pounding as she sat down beside Keiynan on the couch in the sitting room on the District Two floor. This was it. Training scores didn't make or break a Tribute - at least, that was what they said - but it certainly affected their ability to get sponsors, and how the other Tributes saw you. For Vernazza, it stood between respect and suspicion from the others in the Career pack. She was the youngest, had been at the academy for only a short time. In lots of the others' eyes, she was sure, she had no right to be here. But if she got a good score, she would have earned her place, and maybe they would finally listen to her about that stupid outer-District kid.

The commentators shared a few opening lines, talking about how the general population felt about this group of Tributes this year, and brought up a graph of audience favorites.

"Of course, this is all expected to change!" the master of ceremonies tweeted. "The interviews will really be the Tributes' opportunity to shine!"

With that, they put up a picture of Imperial's face. Below it flashed a seven. Veranazza raised her eyebrows.

"A surprisingly low score for Imperial!" the other host said. "Do you think this will affect their sponsor prospects?"

Patroclus waved her hand. "Oh, no, I don't think so. Their Mentor tells me they're much more than they appear. I can't wait to see how they shine during interviews!"

Next, Dazzle Brightsong flashed up on the screen, a big "9" underneath her. Her eyebrows shot up and she heard Keiynan snort.

"Of course," he muttered. "The one who refused to join us got a fucking _nine_. Why am I not surprised?" Surely this wasn't that big of a hole in his plans, right?

"Were you betting on her being useless?" Macabre asked doubtfully. "She was the chosen Tribute, you know. She's capable, whatever her reasons for being solo are."

"Just means we have to take her out," he replied flatly.

Next, Keiynan's face showed up, and she sensed his body tense. A nine showed up under his chin and he cracked a smile.

"Oh wonderful!" Darling said, clapping her hands. "I'm sure you're very excited."

Vernazza felt her stomach open up and fill with anxiety as her face came up. She wanted to shut her eyes so she didn't have to see what it said, see how disappointing she would be, how she would fulfill everyone's low expectations of her, and paint a big target on her back. If she got low enough, she wondered, would she even be allowed in the Career Pack anymore? Or would they just kill her on the first night to get her out of the way, despite their promise? But she didn't have to worry, because she got an eight. An eight!

It was better than Imperial at least.

Darling squealed with delight. "I knew you two were winners!" she exclaimed. "How wonderful!"

Deavon clapped her on the shoulder and she couldn't help her chest swelling up with pride. She had earned her place in the pack, dammit, she had worked nonstop for years. Damn right she got an eight.

Next came the boy from District Three. He surprised everyone with a seven.

"I wonder what he did," Macabre muttered as the commentators twittered on about how excited he must be. And he probably was, honestly. He was probably ecstatic to know that he might have a chance of at least a few sponsors taking pity on him. His District Partner, however, wasn't so lucky. She managed to get away with a five which was pretty low. It wasn't surprising for a District Three kid, though, so Vernazza figured she hadn't had any high expectations for herself.

Now that she knew what her score was, she had to start preparing for an interview. An eight might be considered good, but it wasn't the best. She knew she wouldn't have the best score of the group, and that wasn't good enough. She would have to put in twice the work if she was going to earn the other Career's respect once and for all. She knew she wouldn't become their leader, Keiynan was far too ingrained in their good graces for that, but dammit, she would make sure they respected her voice when she spoke, for however long she was capable of speech. The time between now and the interview would have to be done by figuring out exactly how she was going to make the Capitol - and her allies - fall in love with her and believe she was one of the most capable of the bunch.

That was easier said than done, considering the fact that she was probably the least charismatic person she knew.

* * *

 **Riva Lemelle**

As the District Three girl disappeared from the screen and the camera returned to the commentators, Riva could feel her heart begin to speed up in her chest. She had to get a good score, she knew she could. She was a better fistfighter than anyone else here, she was sure of it. She had seen the others as they tried to fight with their hands. They had nowhere near the ability she did. She might not have had a formal training like the others, but they weren't fighting for someone else's good. She was determined to give her brother the life he deserved, or die trying. And in the Hunger Games, those were the only ways that this could end. Mica's face came up on the screen, and an eight came up. He nodded to himself. "That's acceptable," he muttered.

She glanced at him and then up at the TV, watching in anticipation as she came up and a nine flashed below her face. Hell _yes_.

Despite herself, she couldn't help but feel a little smug that she got a better score than Mica. That might give her some cred with the other Careers and make up for the disparity of respect they might be feeling because she wasn't the chosen Tribute from District Four.

Even if it didn't, she was pretty confident that she could beat every single one of them in hand-to-hand combat, if it came down to it. Next was a small boy that she hadn't taken much notice of. He got a five, and his District partner got a six. Pretty average scores, nothing to really sneeze at. The boy from District Six got a seven. If she remembered correctly, she had watched him a little bit during training; all he really did was hit things with blunt objects. He seemed to have been having a hell of a time. He was a real nutcase, she supposed, one of those guys who would end up going wild in the Arena with the chance to let out every barbaric instinct they had to keep locked up in order to remain in civilized society.

She felt herself zoning out as the results continued. She had really only wanted to watch to know what she and the other Careers had got. She figured Keiynan was taking notes downstairs, and the training scores would pretty much be all anyone talked about for the next few days anyway. She didn't really _have_ to know what the others got.

Still, though, she stayed sitting, staring blankly at the screen but not listening. She figured it would be in bad form to get up and head to her room suddenly when they were all supposed to be having some kind of "training" time or something. She didn't know how she was expected to operate within this weird group. She wondered if anyone else knew what they were doing either, or if they were all just improvising in the hopes that they would make it out alive - or at least die in the least painful and humiliating way possible. She supposed that was about all any of them could hope for. Despite the Capitol's nonstop wishes, the odds were _not_ in their favor. She just wished she could save Destan from having to watch whatever horrors she would have to inflict when she was in the Arena. She still wasn't comfortable with the idea of killing, but she knew to voice or to act on those reservations would not only leave her open and vulnerable, but would also be a show of weakness to the Careers. She hated being around them, really, but they were her best bet - she would stay with them until the group became unstable, and then she would slip away. She had long ago come to terms with the fact that she would have to do things in the Arena that she didn't want to do, but there was no choice. If she wanted to win, to give Destan the life he deserved, then she would have to leave her moral code behind.

She turned to Mica. She had to say this before she lost her courage. "Hey," she said. He slowly turned his head away from the TV and raised his eyebrows at her. "If I die in there. Promise me that you'll win. Do whatever you can. My little brother already lost our parents, and if he loses me, he'll have no one but my best friend to watch over him. If you win, it might make the rest of his life a little easier."

He nodded, and looked piercingly into her eyes. "If I win and you don't make it out, I'll find your brother. I'll make sure he doesn't go hungry. I've got a little sister too. I know how you feel."

"Thanks," she said, almost feeling like folding underneath the look. He was always so nonchalant, but this was a type of fire she didn't think she had ever seen in him. "If I win and you don't make it out, I'll do the same for your family."

"Thanks." With that, they both fell silent and watched the rest of the training scores.

* * *

 **Gavin Springfield**

Gavin's heart had sunk to his shoes. He didn't think he would get a really high score, he had no illusions about his skills. But he had been really proud of the trap he had made. He felt himself sinking into the couch, and he didn't feel like watching the rest of the program.

"Hey," Clio said. "Don't feel bad. None of the Gamemakers were paying attention to us, they probably don't even remember, they were all so drunk."

"Besides, a five is average. Don't let it get you down. Once you get into the interviews, then will be your time to shine."

 _And I won't do any good for myself there either,_ he thought. Still, though, he tried to pay attention as the show moved on, past him and the District after them. No one got much in the way of commentary. Almost all of the interesting Tributes had already passed. The deaf kid from District Seven - Cedar, if he remembered right - got a four, to pitying coos of the commentators.

Clio sat straight up and Gavin's eyes widened as Rosewood popped up on screen with the lowest score of the night.

"A three?" Xixi exclaimed.

Clio's eyes were wide.

"Aren't you in an alliance with her?"

She nodded. "I wonder what she did."

After the moment of awe at Rosewood's deathly low score, the program continued on: Viola and Samuel both got sevens. He was a little scared seeing the high score Samuel had gotten, since he was pretty sure he had been inoculated into the Career pack.

Viola's score was reassuring to Gavin though, since jee was in his alliance. Maybe they weren't just a group of nobodies with no hopes who tried to make up for their lack of power in numbers. Ranine, the quiet kid with the prosthetic leg got a five. Another kid got a four, causing more grimaces all around.

The boy from District Ten got a six, which was pretty average for someone like him. Gavin was getting tired - three days straight of training his ass off had left his body weary - so his attention was slowly waning. He had never been so well-fed nor so hard-worked in his life, and his body wasn't used to the strain.

His anxieties now turned to Interviews. This was really where it all came together, and was the last chance he would have to make an impression on the audience before he went into the Arena. He wasn't likely to get any sway on them while he was fighting for his life anyway.

He quickly pushed that thought out of his mind. If he thought about the Games for more than a few seconds at a time he started getting anxiety, and the last thing he needed right then was an anxiety attack which would leave him drained for the interview. Never before had being focused and ready been so important. Getting sponsors was sometimes the difference between life and death for Tributes in the Arena. He didn't have particularly high hopes, especially considering who he was competing with. Baia Kell was already beloved by the Capitol, and the drama surrounding her being chosen again was enough to make any of these people faint. Not to mention the Careers, despite the fact that they didn't seem to work too well together, were exactly the type that the Capitol ate up. There wasn't a whole lot that Gavin himself brought to the table, so he would have to either become exceptional, or learn to survive without any outside help.

The rest of the private sessions results passed, and he tried his best to pay attention. It wouldn't be a problem if he missed something, though, because he knew that this broadcast would be on repeat for several days, and the interviewer was pretty much guaranteed to mention it.

* * *

 **Viola Batiste**

Viola had squealed when jeir score had been announced. Jee honestly would have been surprised if jee had gotten over a five - but a seven! Maybe all hope wasn't lost!

Jee couldn't wait to meet with the rest of jer alliance. Jee hoped the others would get higher scores - maybe if they were lucky, and were skilled enough, they would actually be able to stand up against the Careers. There were more of them, and though they didn't have the resources or the training, if they met in a battle, one alliance against the other, they might have a chance. If they were really, _really_ lucky.

Not that Viola really wanted to get in a fight with the Career Pack, that just seemed foolish and pointless, but they might actually be a formidable force. Jee was sure that they were the biggest non-Career alliance in at least the past five years, and it was almost unprecedented to see this many outer-District Tributes working together. Jee didn't know how many of them would survive the Bloodbath, but there wasn't anything to say that all the Careers would make it out either.

Maybe there was hope that jee would make it, or at least would make it further than jee had thought at first.

The next scores started coming up. The girl from District Ten — Viola couldn't remember her name — got a seven. Jee wondered if it would have been smarter for them to have added her to their alliance too. But jee figured she probably had other people in mind. Jee had to keep telling jemself not to let the scores of the other Tributes intimidate jer; a high score didn't mean they were the most formidable, it just meant that they had impressed the Gamemakers.

Ida got an _eight_ , which was one of the highest scores of the night. That was on par with most of the Careers, at least.

Ida's District Partner — who was apparently really mean — scored a six. Jee wondered if Ida was feeling smug because she got a better score than Kaia. Next came the boy from District Twelve. He got a seven, which was kind of surprising, based off looks alone. The commentators spent a long time talking about how such a skinny child from the Seam could have possibly gotten so high a score.

"Perhaps this is a year of underdogs!" one of them said. "So many high scores from unexpected places!"

Next came Ayana with a seven. Jee was glad that the unofficial leader of their alliance had gotten at least a moderately high score. Otherwise Viola's hope for them all might have been shaken a little.

Baia Kell, arguably the largest threat to jem aside from the Careers, scored an eight, and her District Partner got a six. The two had been pretty much inseparable during Training, so jee was sure they were in an alliance. Maybe having a partnership with a victor would help pick up the slack for Blake.

As the commentators spent the last few minutes of the program talking about the scores, projecting alliances, considering odds, jee finally felt the adrenaline of the night ware off, and the fatigue of three days of training began to creep up on jem. About all jee wanted to do was crawl in bed and sleep for two days, but jee knew jee couldn't do that. All the next day would be spent in preparation for the interviews. Jee guessed jee wouldn't be able to sleep in until the Games were over.

Jee rose from the couch as Ranine sighed.

"Well, you two had better get off to bed," their Mentor said, clapping her hands together. "You two have a lot to do tomorrow!"

Ranine rolled his eyes, out of sight of Brevee, but Viola caught it and had to suppress a smile. Jee stood and went quickly to jeir room. Jee barely had the energy to change into jeir soft, warm pajamas and crawl under the covers before jee was completely asleep.

Mercifully, jee didn't have any nightmares that night.

* * *

 **A/N: woot so training scores are done! I'll update my profile to add them to all the Tributes.**

 **Next we have the day of the interviews, a short chapter before the** _ **actual**_ **interviews. I'm not gonna do the interviews for every Tribute because, quite frankly, that seems harder and worse than writing Reapings for every Tribute, and i'm a lazy ass bitch soooo yeet.**

 **Anyway, let me know what you thought!**

 **CQ: were there any scores that surprised you?**


	31. They'll Weep With You

**Soren Arausio**

"Come on, Soren, you have to help me help you." Gabriel was leaning forward in xeir chair, hands outstretched earnestly. They had been working almost nonstop all day, trying to coax something out of Soren that would be passable in an interview. So far, about all they could find was that he was sad, and absolutely fucking terrified. Gabriel had tried over and over to role play with him, trying to ask him questions about his friends, his family, his boyfriend. About the only thing that that accomplished was making him break down in tears - twice. The thought of being in front of the cameras, with the attention of all of Panem on him, and only him, made him want to crawl into his shirt and disappear forever.

"Patroclus makes an effort to make every Tribute shine, even the ones who don't sit in front of the cameras well," Gabriel assured him. "She won't leave you out to dry."

"That doesn't matter!" he replied, chocing back tears as he tried to keep his breathing level. The minutes were ticking down until Gabriel would leave him and he would be made up into his interview outfit and then he would be paraded outside to the stage. The more he thought about it, the more panicked he became; he knew he hadn't made any progress and that when he got up on the stage he was almost certainly going to break down and embarrass himself. "Let's face it," he said, bringing his feet up onto the couch and curling up. "I'm not going to get any sponsors out of this interview, so we might as well give up."

"I'm not going to give up on you, Soren. Come on, what would Tahera say if you didn't show up to your interview?"

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said. "No matter what I do, I'm not going to feel comfortable going up there."

"Soren, listen." Gabriel stood up and came to sit beside him. "I'm not going to give up on you. It's my job to mentor you, to prepare you for the Games in any way I can. That means I'm going to do whatever I can to make sure that when you go up on that stage, you'll shine." Xe reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't give up. You're not dead yet."

"I might as well be."

Xe sighed. "How would Barric feel if you said something like that?"

"He wouldn't be happy, but he would know that it's true."

"Do you really want him to mourn you while you're still kicking?"

He looked away. "No."

"There you go. When you go up onto that stage, just relax. You don't even have to look at the crowd. You can look into the cameras, or up at the sky, or at me, or at your stylist - it doesn't matter. Just forget the crowd. They'll love you no matter what. You're a star, kid, you've got so many people who care about you back home. Patroclus is going to touch on that."

He let out a breath. "But what if I mess up? And I _always_ mess up."

"Don't worry about it. The Capitol doesn't care about any of that shit. So long as you play to their emotional weaknesses, they'll scream their heads off at you. I've never seen a Tribute booed before, and certainly not for something so small as being awkward. Plenty of Victors were awkward or downright messes during their Interviews, I promise."

He sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Okay, okay."

"So now I'll be Patroclus," xe said, resuming xeir place across the coffee table from him. Xe put on the ridiculous grin their Master of Ceremonies almost always wore, and imitated her accent - something which made Soren laugh, despite himself.

"So, Soren, tell me about your life back home. Any family? A partner?"

"Ugh, this is so weird," he said. "I can't — I can't talk to you like you're her. You already know about my family."

"Just answer the question, Soren. Close your eyes if you have to."

He sighed, tipping his face to the ceiling and shutting his eyes.

"The only family I have is my sister, Tahera."

"Was she the one who called for you when you were chosen?"

He nodded, feeling his throat close at the memory, at the desperation they had all felt. "Yeah."

"She must care about you a lot."

"We've been together since we were tiny," he choked out. "I didn't have anyone else, before her."

"But you have people now? I saw plenty of people reaching for you as you went up to that stage."

A few tears squeezed out of his eyes and ran down his cheeks, though he was clutching his hands too tightly to reach up and wipe them away.

"Yeah. But I wouldn't know any of them if it weren't for Tahera. I'm too anxious to talk to anyone by myself. My boyfriend, Barric—" his voice cracked and he stopped, unable to continue.

"Take your time," Gabriel said gently. "Everyone will wait for you. They'll weep with you. I promise."

He took a few deep breaths, wiping his tears off his face. "I just miss him so much." He broke down in sobs and even Gabriel's comforting encouragement couldn't coax anything else from him. Eventually, xe got up and left.

He cried himself out soon enough, and Gabriel returned with some food and water. "You okay?" xe asked.

Soren nodded. "Sorry," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. That was probably about as genuine a response as anyone could get. Don't be afraid to cry in front of the cameras — that's gold. Just relax, and let the emotions come. You'll be fine." Xe set down the food. "Your stylist will be in here soon enough. Don't think about the interviews. Just think about your friends, Tahera, your boyfriend — think about the people you left behind, the people they're taking you from."

With that, xe left again, and Soren started eating, though he wasn't particularly hungry.

It was only a few minutes of solitude before the stylist and his crew came in, holding a bag with a suit in it and twittering on about how excited he was.

* * *

 **A/N: so this was Soren's extra chap. I'm really low on spoons atm and hitting kind of a wall, but hopefully campnano will kick me in the pants. Plus I'm out of school now so hopefully I'll start having more time to work on this!**

 **Next is going to be Interviews, and we'll get POVs from Peri,Mira, Ida, Boden, Rose, and Baia.**

 **Let me know what you thought! I couldn't think of a CQ so yeehaw**


	32. In Other Circumstances: Interviews

**Imperial Baines**

Peri had been practically jumping off the walls all day. They'd hardly been able to focus while they were being mentored. All they could really think about was the interview, how this would be their chance to shine, to maybe even say hi to their parents. They had been a little discouraged by the lower score they had gotten, but they knew that it wasn't going to be the end of them.

Besides, they would be able to talk to the rest of the Careers backstage during the whole event. They were _determined_ to get past that hard shell of Sammy and Keiynan. They were cute, and, despite themself, they couldn't help but want to at least be friends with them. What was the point of trying to deny it? They were all probably going to die anyway. Peri would be much happier dying if they got to kiss some cute people before that happened. It wasn't going to be anything _poignant_ or _amazing_ , of course, but it just seemed like it would have been a waste of sixteen years if they didn't get to have at least _one_ decent relationship, no matter how short-lived it was.

It wouldn't be the first relationship, of course, and there wasn't really a whole lot that was saying they would be in a relationship at all, but fantasizing about it helped to ward off the pain of knowing that the Arena wasn't going to be merciful, and their odds weren't all that high when compared to their allies.

As they went to the elevator, they tugged at the shirt they had been put in. It was a long, bedazzled number, and although it was made of a really high-quality material it was still annoying to them.

Dazzle looked great, dressed similarly to them, but she looked about as pouty as she had this whole time.

"Come on, Dazzle," they said, gently elbowing her. "You can't just cry in front of the cameras! Represent District One and at least _pretend_ that you don't hate all of this."

She sent him a look that could melt glass.

"Okay, hint taken," they said, putting their hands up.

The short elevator ride felt like an eternity because it was just so awkwardly _silent_.

They were led into the lobby of the Tribute Center. Outside Peri could hear the talking of the crowd, a low rumble. There were a few other pairs of Tributes there, though the only other Careers were the group from District Four, and Peri didn't know if they trusted them.

Still, though, they went to stand over with them, to get away from Dazzle if nothing else.

Soon, though, Keiynan arrived, and they went over to him, smiling. "Hey! How are you feeling?"

Keiynan cracked the _tiniest_ of smiles, and it was like a shot of dopamine straight to the bloodstream. It took a lot to make Keiynan smile, so it was reassuring to see that they were doing _something_ right.

"I'm feeling fine," he said, putting a hand on their shoulder as he walked by. "What about you?"

"Oh, interviews don't scare me," they replied.

"Of course they don't." He smiled again.

Slowly, the other Tributes trickled into the lobby, all done up in their own unique outfits. Some of them reflected District specialties, but others didn't. At least _some_ of the stylists exercised some restraint.

The rumbling of the crowd outside suddenly burst into a roar as Patroclus Montague's voice came over the speakers, greeting everyone. She told a few jokes, warmed up the crowd — Peri had watched her time and time again over the years. That meant they were going to go up there soon.

They saw Sammy come in and glance briefly at the Careers. They went over to him. "Hey, Sam!"

He waved. "Hi," he said. His voice was restrained, and Peri got the distinct impression that he _really_ didn't want to be here — or at least he _really_ didn't want to be talking to them.

"Are you excited for your interview?"

He shot them a look, raising his eyebrows. "Why would I be?" he asked.

Peri shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe it's just me, but I like being able to talk like that and have it reach a lot of people. It's exciting!"

"So… you're an attention whore."

Peri blinked. Were they?

Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for," he said. "I don't mean that. I'm just really stressed, you know? I don't like being the center of attention like you, I don't really like _anything_ that's going on."

"Well. Understandable." They slapped his back. "Don't worry about it. Already forgotten!"

They turned and noticed that a stage hand was waving at them. "I guess that's me!" they said, grinning. They jumped up and down for a moment, waving their wrists. "Time to go."

With that, they emerged from the Tribute Center and climbed the stairs up to the stage.

Patroclus Montague was standing up, clapping, and as they approached, she shook their hand.

"Imperial!" she said. "Welcome."

"Please, call me Peri," they said.

"Alright. Peri. How are you feeling?"

"Oh, you know. You never like being the first one up for a presentation. This isn't much different."

She laughed. "I was always the first person to volunteer when I was in school."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me." The crowd laughed. "There's a little bit of nervousness, but otherwise I'm excited! The energy out here is electric!" They turned their gaze out into the crowd of dark shapes as they screamed in appreciation.

Patroclus let the crowd go for a moment and then reeled them in. "So, Peri," she said, leaning back and crossing her legs. "How have you liked the Capitol so far?"

"Oh it's great," they said. "There's always something to look at. Every time I look out the window in my room, it seems like there's something I hadn't noticed before. I'm _never_ bored. And the food? It's to die for."

She smiled graciously. "But you miss District One?"

"Oh yeah." They smiled slightly and looked into the camera, as if they would be able to see their friends and parents there. "I'd give a hundred cherry-fudge sundaes to get back there."

A loud "awww" emanated from the audience and they smiled. They had wanted this, they had wanted it for so long, and they were here — but that didn't diminish the homesickness that seemed to be trying to eat them from the inside out.

"Well, I'm sure you'll do your best to get back to them," Patroclus said. "Now, how about we talk about your training score!"

Peri smiled. "Oh that? Gosh, I'm not really proud of that."

"Oh don't say that! A seven is absolutely impressive! You should be proud. You worked hard."

"Thanks. I tried my best, but my skills are usually in speed and such, which is a lot different than most of the other people in my alliance."

"Ooh, an alliance you say?"

"I don't think I'm supposed to talk about that," they said, glancing off the stage towards the Tribute Center, where the others would undoubtedly be watching their performance.

"Oh, boo. Well, I think a lot of us could venture some guesses!"

"I'm sure you could."

"Can I just say — I love your outfit! Your stylist is lovely."

"Oh, he's a mastermind, for sure." They didn't particularly like the material it was made of, but the outfit _was_ nice. "Just wait till you see Dazzle's dress, though. She looks great. Sparkles really are her thing."

Patroclus laughed. "I'm sure she'd be very flattered to hear you say that."

Peri laughed. Really, they doubted that. She didn't really seem to want anything to do with them, but they weren't going to throw her under the bus by saying so.

"So, let's talk about the Games a little bit. Anything you hope to see in the Arena?"

"Well, the weapon I use best is knives — like the kind you throw. A set of those could be a life-saver for me. I'm not a master with them, but I could probably at least defend myself."

"What about for the Arena itself? What do you think you'll be seeing."

They shrugged. "Oh, I dunno. I know the Gamemakers are a clever bunch. They'll probably find something amazing that we've never seen before, just to make these Games extra exciting. But, really, I think a forest Arena would be best for me. I'm fast and I can climb okay, so it'll be more to my skillset. I can't fight hand-to-hand too well, so an environment that would let me hide or avoid would be ideal."

"It's always exciting to see what the Arena has in store for us. Any parting remarks?"

"Can I say something to my parents back in the District?"

"Of course!"

They loooked at the camera. "Mom, dad, I want to make you proud. I'm gonna do my best to win. Astoria, Garnet, Valor: don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

There were laughs from the crowd and Peri smiled.

A buzzer went off, signalling the end to Peri's interview time.

"That's all the time we have unfortunately! Ladies, gentlemen, others: Peri Baines, from District One!"

They stood and waved to the crowd as cheers and screams erupted, and they went quickly from the stage, passing Dazzle as they went back inside.

The adrenaline from being in front of so many people — and it seeming to go so well — made them want to jump up in the air, or take a lap up and down the stairs, but instead they forced themself to sit down with the others, knees bouncing up and down.

The other Careers congratulated them, and Keiynan almost seemed proud — or maybe they were misconstruing. He was a hard guy to read.

* * *

 **Mirabel Holtz**

Mira sat down in one of the twenty-six chairs provided for them, her hand holding the napkin Callum had written his number on the day of the Reaping. It was faded, now, and wrinkled in about every place possible, and there was a brown stain from when she had spilled coffee on it, but she kept it anyway. It was the only thing she had from District Three, the only thing she could hold onto while she waited for her inevitable death.

Right then, though, the Arena seemed far away and impossible, and currently her fears were directed at the interview. She didn't want to be up on that stage in front of everyone. She _hated_ being the center of attention. She knew her stylist had decide an outfit and makeup that would make her look more feminine — and while she _did_ , sort of, she also looked grotesque and like some kind of painted monster — but she didn't want to have to smile at the interviewer who would be cooing over her body after she got killed by one of the other twenty-five people sitting there with her.

As the buzzer rang for Dot's interview, she was waved out the door and to the steps to the stage.

Patroclus was saying something about Dot's performance, about how he was such a shy kid or something like that.

"Now! Mirabel Holtz!"

She mounted the stage and forced a smile, hoping that the Capitolites wouldn't be able to see how fake it was.

She shook Patroclus' hand and sat down.

"Good evening, Mirabel. You look wonderful!"

"Thank you. The outfit certainly is a lot."

"Your stylist is a genius."

She looked down at the dress she was in. It was dark but had been fitted with tiny string lights that pulsed every so often. It was meant to resemble electricity moving through a motherboard, she assumed.

"Yes, she's quite wonderful."

The cameras turned to focus on her in the crowd as she stood and gave a bit of a bow.

"Now, Mirabel. The Capitol hasn't stopped obsessing over the scene at the Reaping. Will you tell us what was going on there?"

She sighed. Of _course_ she wasn't going to be able to get through this interview without being asked about Ashla. She figured every Tribute was getting the question about who picked them. But it was _obvious_ that they had history. Nasty history.

"Well," she said, leaning back and trying to gather her thoughts. "Ashla is my ex girlfriend."

There was a loud "ooh" sound from the audience. Apparently they really enjoyed the "juicy" things like this.

"Yeah. We broke up for good a few months ago." God, she hated this. She didn't want to talk about her personal life with these strangers, to be broadcast for the whole world. They didn't _deserve_ to know this shit about her. But she knew, too, that the Capitolites would swoon about it. "It took me a long time to figure out that I was better off without her. We had been super close since we were kids, and I realized — I realized that she was holding me back. And I thought that there wasn't all that much anger between us, you know? But I guess she really hated me."

Patroclus clicked her tongue. "Well you'll show her, won't you sweetheart?"

She had to hold back a grimace at the nickname. "I'll sure try."

"So you said you moved on from Ashla. Did you find anyone else? Is there someone waiting for you at home?"

Mira felt her cheeks get hot, and she wondered if they could see her blushing through the makeup. "Well..."

The crowd started yelling, and she heard a few "who?" and "tell us!" called up to her.

She looked down at her lap, fingering the edge of the napkin.

Patroclus leaned forward, knowing what the hesitation meant. "What's their name? I'm sure they'd like to know you're thinking about them."

"His name's Callum. We went to coffee, that morning. I don't know if it was really... anything. But, I guess this might be the only time I'll get to tell him..." She looked up, finding one of the cameras and looking into it, trying to picture Callum's adorable glasses there.

She had been afraid to open up to him, worried that he wouldn't like her for who she really was, but chances were she wasn't going to ever see him again. "I kind of have a really big crush on him." Her eyes filled with tears because she knew that no matter what, he would have to watch her die and it would hurt him, no matter what he might feel in return. She looked back down at her lap, sniffling as the crowd "awww"ed.

Patroclus dabbed delicately at her eyes. "That's so sweet, and so, _so_ sad," she said.

Mira nodded. "Yeah, it's uh... pretty tragic."

"Is there something you want to say to your family back in the District?"

A few tears escaped her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She knew she would probably smear the makeup, and, despite the fact that she hated it, felt kind of guilty for ruining her stylist's hard work.

Patroclus reached out and put a hand on her knee. "Take your time, dear. You still have plenty of time."

She took a shaky breath and managed to pull herself together long enough to speak. "Mom? I love you. I miss you. I hope you're doing okay. I'll be thinking of you. And dad, I know we didn't talk as much as maybe we should have, but I love you too. I don't want — I want you to be happy with your family." She choked on a sob and her head fell forward again. She couldn't bring herself to talk anymore, even as Patroclus tried to coax another few words to her family out. She heard a few weeps and wails in the crowd, and for a moment she was angry. How dare they? How dare they take part in her sorrow, in her grief, when they would be cheering on her killer? She couldn't be angry for long though, and even more, she couldn't take her anger out on these people. That would be the opposite of helpful. She didn't need to dig herself into the hole any more than she already was.

"Do you need a moment?" Patroclus asked. "I know this must be hard."

She rubbed her eyes, feeling the makeup smear onto her fingers. She looked up. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just miss them."

"I know you do, sweetheart. I'm sure they miss you too. We _all_ feel for you. This isn't an easy thing to go through."

The buzzer suddenly went off and the crowd started screaming. Some of them were begging for Patroclus to give her a few more minutes, it seemed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You all know the rules." She took Mira's hand and they stood. "People of Panem, Mira from District Three!"

Mira forced another smile out to the crowd before all but fleeing from the stage. She collapsed back down in her chair and started crying fully, but none of the other Tributes so much as glanced at her. She was glad for the privacy.

After a few minutes, though, Dot leaned over. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

She nodded. "I'm just.. you know. Fucking sad, I guess."

He smiled. "Aren't we all."

She sighed and leaned back as the District Four boy passed her. She looked down at the crumpled napkin in her hand and sighed. She wished she would be able to use it.

* * *

 **Boden Clarie**

Boden was perched on the back of the armchair that had been provided for him, crouching like a gargoyle and watching as Tribute after Tribute filed out onto the stage for their three minutes. He didn't really know what he was going to do when he got up there, since he figured the Capitolites wouldn't want to give him sponsorships, so the whole interview was relatively useless. Could he even put up a mask long enough to pretend like he wasn't fantasizing about ripping Patroclus' teeth out of her head?

He was waved to the doors as the crowd cheered for the District Five girl and, with a sigh, hopped off the top of the chair. He stood by the stairs as she passed him, wiping tears from her face.

He rolled his eyes. All these kids were so weak. None of them would be able to make it in the Arena if they didn't toughen up. Even the Career Tributes seemed way too sentimental. God forbid, he thought he overheard Imperial _flirting_ with the others, as if that was in any way a good plan. Although it might make it more satisfying if he got the pleasure of killing them.

He mounted the stage as Patroclus called him up. He kept his face in a mask, knowing that that would make him look the most intimidating. He wasn't doing this for the benefit of potential sponsors, this was mostly to show the other Tributes who he was, so they could properly fear him like he deserved.

"Good evening, Boden," Patroclus said, reaching out to shake his hand.

He looked down at her hand, raising his eyebrows. After a moment, she seemed to get the hint and returned her hand to her side.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"How are you liking the Capitol so far?"

"It's bright. And loud. And the people are ugly."

Patroclus blinked. The crowd was dead silent.

Boden smiled in the back of his mind. All the other Tributes were bending over backwards to ingratiate themselves to the Capitolites, trying to pretend like they _wanted_ to be here, like this great show was the best thing to ever happen to them. Boden wasn't going to do that. He didn't need to. He wasn't here for the Capitolites, or his District. He was here not only because he had been chosen, but because this would be an excellent opportunity to kill people without having to worry about any repercussions.

"Well," Patroclus said, obviously trying to hide just how offended she was at that comment. "Do you want to talk about your Reaping?"

Boden sighed like it was the most boring thing she could ask him. "I suppose I have to, don't I."

"Well I'm sure everyone in Panem is wondering about the boy who chose you."

"Oh him? He doesn't matter. He did it for revenge. He's convinced I did him some gratuitous wrong and wanted to get back at me. Really, it was the greatest gift he could have given me."

She raised her eyebrows. Boden imagined that wasn't the answer she expected.

"The best gift he could have given you? You're excited about the Games then?"

"Oh yes. I don't know why it never occurred to me to Volunteer before, honestly. It's just so convenient."

He wondered, vaguely, if he could be arrested before the Games began. He supposed he would have to tone everything down at least a little bit, that way the Gamemakers wouldn't just kill him because he was unpopular. He imagined his comment about the attractiveness of the Capitolites probably hadn't helped him in that department.

"Convenient?"

"Well, it will help me and my whole District, if I win."

"Do you want to tell us about your strategies?"

"Well, Patroclus, I really don't think that's wise, do you? Then all of my fellow players will know, and we can't have that, can we."

She smiled, even though his tone definitely wasn't friendly. "No, I suppose not. Even still, just a hint?"

"Well I'm certainly not going to be one of those Tributes who runs and hides once that gong goes off, that's for sure."

She smiled and turned out to the crowd. "Well isn't that exciting everyone? We have an outer-District Tribute who seems to have some spunk! And don't we love spunk Panem?"

There was cheers, for sure, but they certainly weren't as loud or as excited as they had been originally.

"Next, why don't we talk about chariots. Everyone's been obsessing over your little show. What was going through your mind right then? What possessed you to tear your costume off? Was it your stylist's idea?"

"Oh no, he didn't know anything about it. I just didn't like the fabric it was made of. It was uncomfortable. So I took it off."

She blinked at him. "Oh, well. It certainly came as a surprise to us all!"

"Yes, I'd imagine it did."

"Finally, with the time we have left, I want to compliment you on your Training Score. A seven! That's quite amazing for District Six, isn't it."

He shrugged. "I suppose. But I'm also quite amazing for District Six, so I suppose it shouldn't come too much as a surprise."

She laughed, but Boden could tell it was forced. "Oh you certainly are!" she said. "Do you think that score bodes well for your performance during the Games?"

He shrugged. "Hopefully."

The buzzer suddenly went off, and he could see her shoulders lower in relief. She motioned for him to stand and, after a moment, he did. "Panem, Boden Clarie of District Six!" There were cheers and shouts as he descended the stage and passed Marley. He wondered if these cheers were genuine, if some of the sappy fucks here would actually find him likeable enough to sponsor, or maybe they would find him mysterious and intriguing and a bad boy. Oh God he wished he had the time and opportunity to kill every single one of them. He rolled his neck as he went back into the lobby, not looking at any of the other Tributes. He knew they had seen the whole thing, and he wasn't going to give them the opportunity to humanize him while they were still recovering from his performance. The less they knew about him, and the more they feared him, the better.

* * *

 **Rosewood Hart**

Rose hated pretty much everyone within a ten-mile radius. Which was kind of a standard emotion for her, but she was feeling it especially keenly tonight. Ever since her score had come out, she had dreaded having to go out on stage as the girl who got a three. While she _knew_ she was more than that, and that anyone who would take her at face value based on her score would be underestimating her, she had gotten nothing but pitying glances from her Escort. Like she could care less what happened to her. District Seven almost never won, she got her paycheck no matter what. She supposed that maybe she had held out some kind of hope, since she probably didn't think Cedar would make it.

That made her blood boil even more. Everyone seemed to think that he was as good as dead, just because he was Deaf. There had been kids without a sense in the Games before, and kids in wheelchairs, and kids with numerous other disabilities — some, probably, that they as the audience didn't even know about. Sure, he would be at a disadvantage, but she hoped he didn't count himself out like everyone else did. She was determined to make sure that he made it as far as possible. The two of them had bonded a little bit over their time there, and they had almost become friends. She liked to think that if they had met in other circumstances they would have been close.

Maybe if she weren't so damaged.

She watched as he signed, being translated a few moments after by his interpreter. They were talking about how he thought he would do in the Games.

"I know I'll be at a disadvantage because I'm Deaf," he signed with shaking hands. "But I have people that I hope will be able to be my ears."

There was a laugh at that, and Rose felt the edges of her mouth quirk. She knew he was nervous. He had so much anxiety, and he probably felt even worse because of the whole Deaf thing, but she was glad he was at least able to make jokes.

The buzzer went off and a stagehand waved her over.

Heaving a heavy sigh, she went outside. As Cedar came down the stairs with his interpreter, Rose gave him a thumbs up and absolutely butchered a "You did good!"

He seemed to understand though and he smiled and thanked her as he went back inside.

Patroclus was introducing her, obviously doing her best to hype her up after her disgustingly disappointing training score.

She knew that the Gamemakers had probably done this as a strategy — but she didn't know why. She would have thought that Albia Sky's revenge would have come by giving her a _high_ score, to make her a target for the Career Pack. But a low score meant they would all peg her as weak, even though they had seen her in training. Regardless, though, they probably didn't think she was anything more than average, so she wasn't going to be a target regardless. A few of the other kids had figured out what she had done and congratulated her on her bravery, so that meant that pretty much everyone probably knew what had happened. So how exactly her training score would affect her life in the Arena was yet to be seen.

She went up the steps and crossed the stage, trying not to trip on her ridiculous high heels. She didn't really _want_ to put on any sort of facade, but she knew that the only way she was going to make any sponsorship possible — not only for her but for her allies— would be to do her best to make herself the sweetheart, even if she wanted to wring the next of everyone in that audience.

She shook Patroclus' hand, hoping that her own wasn't sweating.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

Rose was certain she had said some variation on that for every single one of the Tributes. It was amazing the Capitolites didn't fall asleep.

"I'm alright," she replied, nodding. "It's been a tiring few days. I'm used to working hard, but never that many parts of my body at once."

Patroclus laughed. "Oh I'm sure! You were a lumber worker, weren't you?"

She nodded. "I was one of the people who scaled the trees to take off branches so they weren't so dangerous when we cut them down completely."

"Did you ever get frightened, being up so high?"

"Oh no — well, the first few times I did it I was. We're strapped down good so we don't ever fall. Of course, accidents happen, but not often. Not in several years, I don't think. But the first few times you're just not sure, and it is _really_ high up."

"Do you think your familiarity with trees will help you in the Arena?"

"Maybe. I can climb them without a harness alright, but we can't even know if there are going to be trees in the Arena at all."

Patroclus nodded. "That's very true," she said. "So, Cedar sort of dropped the hint that the two of you are allies. Anything to say to that?"

"Yeah, we're allies. I don't see any reason to hide that. We're not the only ones though, but I'm not in charge, and I don't know if it's part of our strategy to talk about it."

"Oh can't you give us the tiniest of hints?" she begged. "Everyone would love to hear it! We've all been getting the feeling that there's a particularly large and intimidating alliance full of people we wouldn't expect."

"Oh that's probably true, but I won't say anything here. It's not really my place."

There were shouts and pleas from the audience, and she felt an actual smile cross her face. She had to admit, it was more than a little satisfying stringing these people along and, honestly, it was just so _easy_.

"Do you think you have a chance against the inner-District Tributes?"

She shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure, but there has to be safety in numbers, right?"

"There certainly is. So, how are you liking the Capitol?"

Great, now it was time to lie. What did she _actually_ like about this Godforsaken place? What did she like _anywhere_?

"Well," she said. Then she paused, trying to buy herself time so she could figure out what was the most convincing lie she could come up with.

But then she thought of something. Something that, however unfortunately, wasn't a lie.

"If I hadn't been Reaped, I would never have met Cedar."

There was a loud "aww" from the audience, and with a sudden sinking in her stomach, she realized how that probably came across.

Little did they all know she was an _enormous_ lesbian.

"He — I haven't been able to focus on making friends, for a while," she said. More lies, but she wasn't about to go sharing the death of her girlfriend to all these pigs, who would turn it into some kind of tragic drama, as if they had nothing to do with it. "Despite the circumstances, we kind of... connected after the Reaping. I started feeling like, if we had known each other back in the District, we probably would have been friends, you know?"

She suddenly realized that her throat was swelling shut with the effort it took to hold back tears.

"There's no reason you can't be friends now, despite everything."

"I know. And he _is_ my friend. I just wish we didn't have all of this hanging over us."

She felt her voice waver in the last half of that sentence, but she swallowed it back. No, no they were _not_ going to see her cry. They didn't deserve her tears.

"That's beautiful, Rosewood," Patroclus cooed.

She snorted quietly.

"Do you have family back home?" she asked. Her voice was gentle, as if she were talking to an injured animal. She couldn't decide if she resented it or was comforted by it.

"Yeah," she said after a long moment. "My mom, dad, three brothers, and a sister."

"What a group you all must make!"

She smiled and looked down at her feet. "Yeah," she said quietly.

Really, she had been doing her best not to think about her family. If she thought about them too long she was afraid she would just break down.

"Anything you want to make sure they know, with the time we have left?"

Rose sighed, and felt her whole life sag onto her shoulders. "They know everything they need to," she said quietly. She didn't know if she could bear to say those words out loud, not with all these people watching her. "But I just wish I had gotten the chance to say it more often."

"Don't we all."

With that, the buzzer sounded. Rose wondered, distantly, if Patroclus had been doing this long enough that she just naturally knew how long three minutes was and could time her questions perfectly to make sure it all fit neatly into the timeslot for each Tribute.

She stood up, and Rose followed after her.

"Ladies, gentlemen, other, I give you Rosewood Hart!"

Rose bowed briefly and wasn't as bad as she thought it would be.

She quickly went down the stairs, realizing that she was shaking like a leaf. She hadn't felt nervous at the time — just angry, really — but now that the adrenaline had worn off her body was finally allowing itself to feel the panic that being on stage and the center of attention really caused.

She sat back down with relief and kicked off her heels. She didn't really care if her feet smelled, those fucking things pinched her toes.

Cedar leaned over. "You did good." Then, he grabbed the pad of paper they had been using to pass notes. "Was it true? What you said about us?"

She smiled. "All of it."

His eyes filled with tears and he leaned over, hugging her tightly. As he pulled away, he wrote, "You're my friend too."

He showed her the sign for "friend." He made both of his index fingers into hooks and interlocked them before rotating his wrists so his hands switched places.

Then he held his hooked finger out to her. Knowing there were tears in her eyes, she locked hers around his. "Friends," she whispered.

* * *

 **Ida Aven**

Patroclus greeted her, arms open and a wide, eery grin on her face. She didn't think smiles really suited these people, with how made-up they were all the time.

She forced a smile back, repeating _be friendly and charismatic, friendly and charismatic_ over and over again in her head.

She looked out into the crowd and waved, even blew a few kisses, before sitting down on the plush armchair. She crossed her legs self consciously. She hadn't ever worn a skirt this short, and she definitely didn't like feeling so exposed. It wasn't even all that short, stopping just above her knees, but since she was up on a stage she was constantly worried she was going to flash the audience.

"So, Idalah," Patroclus said. "First of all, I'd just like to congratulate you on your training score. An eight! You must have done something truly remarkable to impress the Gamemakers so much."

She smiled slightly. "I hope so," she said. "I sure doubt they were going to give good scores just for fun."

"Oh absolutely! You earned it, though I don't know what you did. Do you think it'll give you an advantage in the Arena?"

"I hope so. I can't really know for sure. I've never been... in a situation like that." She knew she had to watch how she talked about the Games, how she worded her responses. If she let on just how awful all of this was, just how despicable she found the Capitol, there might be grave consequences — not just for her, but for her family, for everyone back in District Eleven. Their lives were hard enough as it was, she didn't need to make it worse.

"How are you feeling, these days before the Games?"

She shrugged. Lying like this was surprisingly easy, she was finding. It was almost natural to slip into this shell and pretend, to lie through artificially whitened teeth and not even think about her responses. "I'm nervous, you know. I don't know who isn't. There's just... a lot of unknowns, and it's hard to feel prepared when you don't know what to expect."

"Well I'm sure you'll do fine. Don't you all?" She smiled out at the audience as they cheered. "I'm sure you've got many, many supporters out there tonight who are rooting for you as you go into the Games. Not just here, but in the District as well."

Ida smiled. "Yeah, there are," she said.

"I want to talk about some of the people in the District cheering you on. That girl you volunteered for. She isn't your sister, is she?"

She shook her head, smiling again. They looked nothing alike. "No, she's my best friend's sister. I couldn't let her go in, not when she was pregnant."

"Oh no, of course not. We haven't had a pregnant Tribute in many years, but I'm sure many of the older folks watching tonight remember Jacobi Trevor, and the tragic end they met."

There were some sympathetic agreements and sighs from the audience. Ida didn't think she was old enough to have seen that, and it wasn't a Games that were interesting enough to be rerun often.

"Yeah. And when she got called — I was ready to volunteer for anyone in my family if they got picked, and she's like a sister to me. Even though I've got so many already."

Patroclus laughed, and it was a surprisingly sweet laugh. "How many sisters do you have?"

"Five."

"Oh my goodness! Your house must be crowded!"

She nodded. "It gets really hectic, yeah," she said.

"And your best friend, let's talk about them."

"His name's Gus. When we met, I was just a skinny twelve-year-old working in the orchards for the first time, but he immediately scooped me up under his wing, and we've been close ever since."

"Oh that's adorable," she gushed, hands on her cheeks. "Certainly a wonderful pair you two must make."

She smiled and nodded. "Yeah. I love him a lot."

"Anything you want to say to Gus? Or your sisters? Or your parents?"

She bit her lip. She thought she had said all that she had wanted to at the goodbyes after the Reaping, but ever since then a million things had been going through her head, things she wished she had thought to say at the time. But they were all too personal and too many, not things that she had the time to say here on stage. She knew her three minutes were ticking away quickly, and that she wouldn't be able to finish a lengthy monologue.

"Just — I love you all. And that if I get back, if I win, I'm going to get cake for dinner every day for a week to celebrate."

There were laughs and coos from the audience, and Patroclus looked like she was getting choked up. "I'm sure your sisters would love that," she said.

That had been a lie, really. But she knew that her family would be in tears as they watched this, and she needed something that would make them all laugh, something to make them feel at least a little bit better. That was all she could hope for. She knew her death would be painful, probably the worst pain any of them would ever go through, but she wanted to make it as easy as possible.

The bell rang, then, and Patroclus motioned for her to stand. "Give a bow, Idalah."

She bent at the waist and smiled out at the crowd. They were yelling her name, and someone threw a rose at her. She bent and picked it up, sending a "thank you" in the general direction of the gifter.

"People of Panem, Idalah from District Eleven!"

She waved once more as she went down the stairs, passing the boy from District Twelve.

With a sigh she sat back down on her chair, too relieved to be off the stage to worry about sitting with her knees crossed. That hadn't gone that bad, she thought. She would have to ask her Mentor what she thought later. Hopefully it was enough to earn her some sponsors. Maybe once everyone saw the alliance she was in, they would pool their money to get things that would help them all.

* * *

 **Baia Kell**

Baia sat in her chair, swearing. She hated having to go last. It just gave her more time to worry about what was going to happen. Ezra had made it all so easy; he was so charming, so charismatic. He made the Capitolites fall in love with him, and since they were in an alliance and all he did was gush about her, they liked her as a result.

Now she didn't have Ezra. He couldn't go up there and give an interview for her. She'd have to talk about herself and her life and she would have to remind them all why they cheered for her, why they loved her, why she shouldn't even fucking be here.

She was a Victor, dammit. She had won. That was the agreement.

But she supposed none of that mattered. Not to any of these people, at least.

She supposed that now she had a pity card, though. Ezra had used that to his advantage two years ago, maybe it would work now. Then it had been Lyla, pregnant with their child, only eighteen years old and having to face the possibility of watching her boyfriend die and having to raise a child alone in District Thirteen.

Now, Baia had the tragedy of her life.

She supposed she also had her and Blake, but she hadn't even had the courage to bring it up to Ezra yet, let alone to the whole fucking country. She didn't know how well a Katniss and Peeta 2.0 would pan out with the president.

She wasn't even sure what the two of them were going to do about that. What _could_ they do, really? Baia had been racking her brain about it for two days.

They had had a brief conversation, after Private Sessions were over, but there wasn't really a whole lot accomplished there.

She glanced over at Blake as she was brought to the door outside. She seemed fucking miserable. They had almost been verging on friends. Baia was awkward in those ways now, but she had tried so hard to make things easier, so their Alliance would be something bearable. But now it seemed as though everything had been set back to square one. She knew Blake felt awful about what she felt, even though there wasn't really anything she could do about it. Even more than that, she probably thought it had changed how Baia felt, because she didn't return the feelings.

Really, she didn't even know what her feelings were.

Baia watched Blake's interview. Whatever she was feeling, she did it well. She struggled being the most likeable Tribute out there, but she was far from the bleak and boring person Baia tended to be at all times.

She had been medicating, Baia knew, while she had been in the Capitol. She worried about what would happen when she had to go cold turkey again. She wondered about all the kids who took medicine, how well they would fear when their anti-hallucinogens wore off or their depression medication.

When the buzzer rang, Baia was brought outside.

Blake came by her and she grabbed her wrist. "Hey," she said.

She looked up.

"You did good out there. Congrats."

The faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of her lips. "Thanks."

With that, Baia turned back around, listening to Patroclus announce her.

"And now, the interview you've all been waiting for. You know her, you remember her, you love her. People of Panem, Baia Kell, Victor of the one-hundred and forty-eighth Hunger Games!"

The crowd's roar was fucking deafening. They had cheered loud for some of the other Tributes, the real sweethearts. But it was nothing compared to this. As Baia mounted the stage, a dozen flowers from different places along the front few rows came flying at her.

A lily came from one of the balconies and she quickly came forward to catch it, waving in the direction of its origin. She had been coached nonstop in this, and she had been around Ezra during the Victory Tour. She had picked up a thing or two.

Honestly, it probably wouldn't be hard to make these people love her. Half the work was already done for her, purely by circumstance.

Patroclus let the crowd have its fun for a moment before putting her hands up. Still, it took a full twenty-five seconds for them to quiet enough so she could speak. "Welcome back, Baia," she said.

"Thanks."

"How does it feel, to be sitting back in this chair?"

She took a deep breath. She had to give more than one-word answers. She had to be charismatic, she had to be _likeable_.

She imagined Grayson, her parents, Lyla, all of the kids she helped back in District Thirteen. Everyone who knew her, who cared about her in some capacity or another. She tried to imagine that she was talking to them, in some far-off theoretical fantasy-land.

 _Think about Blake. You have to be good. So that she can get out._

"Honestly, Patroclus? I'm surprised. I definitely didn't think I'd ever be a Tribute again."

"Well who could blame you? We all thought you would be out for good, and returning as a Mentor this year."

"Yes, it certainly was an interesting turn of events."

"Well that's the nature of the Quarter Quell, isn't it?"

Baia forced a smile, and she hoped it didn't look like a grimace. "Yes, it certainly is." The Quells had always been designed to be awful. And this one definitely delivered.

"Let's talk a little about Training. How did you feel about this year, compared to your first time being a Tribute?"

"Well... I certainly felt less scared. But it was different, without Ezra there to help me."

"Well he's here, sweetheart. He's been Mentoring you, hasn't he?"

She nodded, looking over her shoulder towards the Tribute Center. She knew Ezra would be up on the thirteenth floor, watching her, cheering her on, praying to anything and everything that she would be okay at this.

"Yeah, but. It's not the same. I miss having him as an ally. He was the real star of our Games."

Patroclus reached out and put a hand on her knee. "Don't sell yourself short, Ms. Kell! You performed amicably in the Games. I'm sure not many of us expected the pair from District Thirteen to get as far as they did. And this year you had the advantage of experience, didn't you."

"At least I knew the names of all the stations," she agreed.

Patroclus laughed, and there was scattered chuckles from the crowd.

"And an eight! Definitely an improvement from your first Games."

"I would hope it would have been. I mean, I haven't kept in the best shape the past couple of years, but I _did_ win the Hunger Games."

Those words had flown out of her mouth almost without permission, and once she realized what she had said she felt her stomach flip.

The audience just laughed, completely unaware that Baia was seeing the faces of the children she killed, the ones she saw murdered before her eyes. A cold sweat broke out on her brow.

"Baia?"

She came back to the present, realizing that Patroclus had asked her a question and she hadn't even heard it.

"What? Sorry, I was — somewhere else for a moment."

"Perfectly alright. I was asking about alliances you were thinking of?"

"I've already got an Ally," she said. "I don't see much reason to keep it hidden from everyone, since all the other Tributes know already. We've pretty much been side-by-side nonstop during Training."

Patroclus put her hands to her cheeks excitedly. "Well don't tease us with it! Who is it?"

"Blake, my District Partner."

"Oh wonderful! Somehow I knew the two of you would get along. Do you think she'll be helpful?"

"I know she will." Baia probably wouldn't have partnered with her if she seemed like a lost cause, but she didn't say that out loud. She knew how harsh it would feel to Blake.

"Who knows, maybe the pair from District Thirteen will win again!"

Baia smiled. "Maybe," she said. Little did Patroclus know that Baia had little intention of coming out of the Arena a second time.

"So, you have sort of a unique perspective on the Games, being a Tribute twice now. What do you think will be your greatest advantages this time around?"

"Well, experience, for one thing. I know what to expect, to a certain extent. Plus I've been there. I know how to starve, how to find food, how to avoid the traps."

She nodded thoughtfully. "What about disadvantages?"

Baia took a deep breath. "Well, sort of on the flip side of the familiarity, I'm worried I might be expecting too much, so if the Arena is a lot different from mine then I won't know how to adjust." She paused, trying to swallow the lump in her throat and find the words to voice the fear that had been haunting her since she had been Reaped. "And... I don't know what will happen when I'm put through the Bloodbath again," she said quietly. "I'm afraid I'll freeze."

Patroclus hummed sympathetically. "I believe in you. I know you'll be amazing."

"Thank you."

"With the time we have left, I want to talk about your family. We _all_ remember them from your first Games. Was it hard, saying goodbye again?"

Baia felt her chest tighten, and she looked down into her lap. She didn't want to get emotional in front of the cameras, she didn't want to break down the hard facade she had put up. If she showed weakness, it would lead to Blake's suffering. "Yeah," she said. "I didn't think I would ever have to go into those rooms again. And it was hard. I miss them all a lot."

"Well, Is there anything you'd like to say, before we end the night?"

She looked up, finally, letting the stage lights blind her so she didn't have to think about the crowd. "I love everyone there. They all know that. I miss them all more than they know. I hope I get to see them again."

She sniffled, but tried to hide it.

Patroclus nodded. "Why don't you come give a bow, sweetheart?"

She nodded, standing up and going with her to the edge of the stage. She bowed as the crowd roared for her.

She imagined they had to turn Patroclus' microphone all the way up as she gave her parting remarks for Baia.

With relief, she fled the stage as Patroclus ended the Interviews ceremony with a few announcements she didn't hear. The other Tributes were already getting into elevators, but Blake was still standing in the lobby.

As the door shut behind her, she put a hand on her chest. Her heart was beating rapidly, and she had to take several deep breaths before she could manage to walk.

"Good job," Blake said. "You did a hell of a lot better than I did."

She smiled at her. "Thanks, but don't sell yourself short."

Together, the two of them went to the elevators.

There was no break in congratulations when they got back up to their floor. Ezra hugged her tightly. "You were almost likeable," he said teasingly to her. "Maybe there's hope for you yet."

"Yeah, maybe," she said. "Right now, I just want to go to fucking sleep."

* * *

 **A/N: So this was interviews! I know I'm two days late, hope y'all will forgive me. I'm doing campnano this month so I'm trying to keep up with writing.**

 **Next is going to be the morning of the Games, but these are going to be from Albia's point of view!**

 **I'm so fucking jacked to get to the Games guys, I can't wait!**

 **CQ: whose was your favorite interview and why? Was there anything that surprised you?**

 **Thanks for reading! Let me know what y'all thought!**


	33. No Wine, No Drugs, No Crying

**Albia Sky**

The alarm going off was like a hammer hitting ver temple over and over again. The phone was across the room, discarded along with ver coat when ve came back the night before. Ve had fallen asleep sprawled out on the couch, a half-empty bottle of wine and an upended glass tipped over.

No Avoxes yet — it must be early.

In ver groggy, hungover brain, it took Albia a moment to figure out what the alarm meant — or what day of the week it was.

Suddenly, it came to vim. Today was the Games.

"Fuck," ve said, sitting up. Ver hair was a fucking mess, of course, and ve was still in ver clothes from the night before. Ve stood up and crossed the living room, fishing ver phone out and turning the alarm off.

Ve hadn't meant to get drunk the night before, but ve and the other Gamemakers had finished putting the final touches on the Arena last night, the last few changes so that it was finally ready for the Tributes to get there that morning. There had been a celebratory toast — and another, and another.

Ve went to ver bedroom, digging through ver walk-in for an outfit. Ve knew, just outside ver apartment would be swarms of paparazzi, trying to get a picture of vim or a few words in answer to one of their hundreds of questions. Of course, ve had no time for this. There would be interviews later, where the Gamemaking team could allow a few things to go on automatic, or allow the Tributes a few hours of respite, but right now everyone had to be present for the beginning of the Games.

Ve found an acceptable outfit, comfortable and stylish, and laid it out before going to the bathroom.

God, ver face looked awful. Last night's makeup still smeared across ver lips and eyes. It would be washed off easily enough, but ve was just glad that ve was alone in the apartment.

Ve showered quickly, trying to keep ver mind on the Games, and not on ver crushing grief. But it was so hard, when everything about the Hunger Games reminded vim of Aeneus, and their horrible fate, and how the investigation just seemed like endless dead ends. Of course, there wasn't much time dedicated to it, seeing as the Games were of prime importance, but it was frustrating knowing that Aeneus' murderer was getting away with it, could be who knew where, could have disappeared off the face of the fucking planet by now. The longer they waited, the colder the trail would get.

When ve was dressed and made up, ve put ver coat and shoes on. Ve hadn't eaten yet, but ve would be able to get any food practically on-demand at the HQ. Ve didn't know if ve would be able to keep anything down anyway.

As expected, the moment the building doors opened, a thrum of noise assaulted vim, and it took all of ver energy to smile and wave off the cameras as ve pushed through the crowd to ver car.

"Yes, yes, thank you, we'll talk more at the interviews, I'm very busy, very excited, yes yes." Ve wasn't even worrying about the things that were being said, wasn't even bothering to listen, because ve knew that at least half of those questions had to do with Aeneus. Ve needed to be focused this morning, and couldn't be distracted by how shitty ver life had gotten over the past week.

To think, ve had been the happiest person on the planet, engaged to the love of ver life, when all of that was suddenly taken away. It just wasn't fair.

Ve felt ver shoulders relax in relief as the door shut behind vim and the car took off from the curb.

They headed to the Gamemaker's headquarters, a block down from the Tribute Center. Ve knew that in an hour or so the Tributes would be roused from their beds, dressed, and brought to the roof so the hovercraft could take them to the Arena.

The Arena. How exciting this was. Ve was particularly proud of the Arena this year, and it had been ver idea to begin with. It would certainly make an impression, as ve didn't think it had been done — at least, not in quite some time.

Ve had to dodge more paparazzi as ve went into the tall building, and had to resist the temptation to take drugs to relieve the stress. Ve needed all ver faculties.

Ve shot upwards in the elevator, past research and experiment labs; past reference halls full of old Games, old Arenas, old Muttations; all the way up to the top where the Gamemakers presided over everything to do with the Hunger Games, where they would be watching every moment on one screen or another, triggering traps and watching the Tributes kill each other, making sure they didn't get too close to the boundaries and ensuring that these Games were the best yet.

This was the mission of every Hunger Games every year: be an improvement over the last. They had one-hundred and fifty years of shoulders to stand on, it was only natural that they outdid themselves every year.

Ve went down the crisp white hallways, past the silent Avoxes and watchful Peacekeepers — whose numbers had increased exponentially since the murder — and through the door to the observation deck, as they called it.

The screens were lit up, showing several shots of the Arena. The holographic table in the center was turned off, but soon it would be projecting the Arena, the Tributes' placement in it, as well as the several traps and other mechanics that could be implemented at the press of a button.

The others were already assembled. A few were in relatively high spirits, but no one had quite recovered from the murder of their Head Gamemaker, nor the anxiety and fear. Was the person who killed Aeneus planning to kill again? Who was next? Were they all pawns in some kind of rebel plot to attempt to take over the Capitol?

Albia didn't feel any of these anxieties. If someone wanted to kill vim, they damn well could and save vim the trouble. If not, well fuck them anyway.

Ve sat down at the head of the table, feeling small in the high-backed chair.

Suddenly they were transported back in time, over two years ago, when it was their first year as a Gamemaker: a young, starry-eyed hopeful who was absolutely star-struck watching Aeneus Ardensill at work. Hundreds would do anything to be in that position, to be able to be a part in the planning of the most anticipated pageant of the year.

Ve remembered being in this room, long after the others had left, when it was just vim and Aeneus. They had asked about adding some more fauna to the Arena, and as it was ver specialty, ve had been more than happy to comply. Ve had never imagined that Aeneus would take anything more than a professional interest in vim.

In ver mind, ve wasn't even in the observation deck anymore, ve was spinning in circles at the congratulatory ball, all blushes and shy smiles as Aeneus asked vim for dance after dance.

Ve wondered if ve looked anything like Aeneus, sitting in that chair. Everyone's eyes were on ver, expectantly. Ve was their leader, and despite the fact that ve felt like breaking down into sobs, ve pushed it aside.

"Alright everyone, let's get started." There were still a few preparations to be made, and finally, Albia felt vimself slip into the calm headspace of a Gamemaker.

No wine, no drugs, no crying.

It was game time.

* * *

 **A/N: So here is the final chapter of the pre-Games! Next is going to be Day One. I'm keeping the POVs a secret tho.**

 **Anyway! I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter. This isn't the last we're going to be seeing of Albia, as the investigation into Aeneus' death is going to continue through the Games.**

 **CQ: Do you have any predictions for the Arena? What about mechanics, mutts, and traps the Gamemaking team will implement?**

 **Let me know what you thought! I hope the pre-Games weren't as torturous to read as they were to write. I think I learned here that one POV per Tribute is** _ **not**_ **enough to give everyone the arcs they deserve, so I'll keep that in mind when/if I write another SYOT.**

 **Anyway, see you next time! Don't forget to review, and check my profile for the Sponsor points and things you can do to earn more points!**

 **I'll also update the Tributes' sections on the profile as people bite the dust, so you'll get to see their stats!**


	34. Comfort in Caterpillars: Games Day One

**Keiynan Edgar**

 **Morning**

The day dawned clear and bright. Keiynan watched as the sun came up, reflecting off the myriad of colors that seemed in infinite supply in the Capitol. He had tried to sleep for a few hours, and while he had managed to pass into something that might have resembled sleep, he was plagued with images of home, of his parents and their ever-present disappointment, of Valia and those treasonous things she said that always rang of truth, of sitting up late at night so he could draw the stars. He couldn't escape these images haunting him, so eventually he gave up trying. He sat up eating sweets and tiny little rolls dipped in gravy and watched as the moon arced across the sky. It was almost full; that would be good for them.

As dawn chased away the shadows covering the streets, the Capitol once again came alive. Even from up here, through two inches of glass and twenty feet, he could feel the excitement, the electricity.

He was already at the door when his Escort knocked.

He went out into the dining room for one last breakfast, and even though he had been snacking all night, he gorged himself. Vernazza seemed to take the opposite strategy, only picking at her food. She drank a lot of water though. He wondered if it was nervousness that kept her from eating, or if she was preparing in case she had to go a while without food.

"How do the two of you feel?" Macabre asked.

Keiynan looked up at them. "I'm ready," he said. He had been training his whole life for this, had been preparing himself mentally, physically, emotionally. He was going to make his parents proud; this was his chance.

Soon, too soon, he was sent back to his room to bathe and dress. Darling and the Mentors didn't come with him to the roof. Instead it was just his stylist. He made sure the watch Valia had given him was secured tightly on his wrist. He was alone on the roof. He had left Vernazza behind when he got into the elevator. There must be a whole fleet of hovercraft, waiting to take them each individually to their holding pens that would raise them into the Arena.

A ladder was lowered from the hovercraft and as he grabbed it, his whole body froze and he began to rise.

He hated feeling like this, feeling like a helpless animal being led to slaughter, but it was over in a moment. He was injected with a tracker, and then his stylist was brought up.

The two of them hadn't really formed a connection during Keiynan's time in the Capitol. She was alright, he supposed, but she always seemed to be sad and happy at the same time and he could never figure out why.

They sat in relative silence for the ride, but inside Keiynan's mind it was anything but silent. Nervousness seemed to be the predominant feeling, and he hadn't predicted that he would be this frightened. He didn't _like_ being frightened. He should feel ready, determined, maybe even bloodthirsty. But he didn't feel any of those things. He just felt like a frightened rabbit, put out in the open with the eyes of the fox locked on him.

No, he had to remind himself. He wasn't the rabbit. He was the fox. The other Tributes would be scared of him, would flee from his gaze, knowing that to be spotted would mean death. And it was his job to ensure that they didn't escape him.

The hovercraft ride wasn't all that long. He kept checking his watch. It was an hour and seventeen minutes. They must have been higher up than he thought, because when they went in for a landing, it took a long time. He was let out into a dark room, and a few lights flicked on. Sitting on a table was the outfit every Tribute in the Arena would be wearing.

It was a short tunic, a pair of sturdy pants, and a thick sweatshirt. That indicated the Arena would probably be cold, but relatively dry.

"What do you think?" he asked, showing it to his stylist.

She looked at it thoughtfully for a moment and then felt each garment between her fingers. "Flammable. This material is partially made of plastic. Don't get burnt. It'll stick right to your skin if you do."

"Noted."

She helped him into it, and he saw that her eyes were filled with tears.

He felt the need to comfort her, for some reason. "Hey," he said, smiling. "Don't worry. Just make sure I'll look good during my Victory Tour."

She laughed and nodded, wiping her eyes. "I know you'll be great out there, Keiynan Edgar."

"Thanks."

A cold voice over the intercom directed him to the tube. He looked one last time at her. He knew that hers would be the last face he would see that wouldn't be a potential threat. He stepped into the tube. Glass slid down around him and he felt that same moment of anxiety, of claustrophobia. Only now it was heightened, because in less than two minutes, the Hunger Games would begin.

One minute. That was all he would have.

One minute to get his bearings, see the Arena for the first time, locate his allies, and find the best way to get to the cornucopia from his plate.

He went over the plan once more in his mind.

It was Peri's job to get to the cornucopia first, to secure the supplies so that they could get there and start forming a perimeter. Vernazza would probably be the second one there, since she was second fastest. From there, they would position themselves based on range and would hold the other Tributes off as well as they could. He figured most of them would disappear into the wilderness the first chance they got, but there would be a few who would try and get at the good stuff that lived in the cornucopia.

The plate began to rise, pushing him upward, and Keiynan shut his eyes. He didn't want the sunlight to blind him when he first emerged. He needed as much time as possible to get his bearings.

But the sunlight never came. The plate stopped and the place beyond his eyelids remained dark. Confused, he opened his eyes, and realized why.

He looked up, and instead of seeing a bright, blue sky, all he saw was inky blackness.

They were completely underground.

He looked around. They seemed to be in a huge cavern, lit by giant glowing mushrooms. One was growing over the side of the cornucopia, casting an unnatural light over the contents spilling from it.

The timer had begun. He cast his eyes quickly around, seeing the other Tributes looking around in panic for the best way out. He spotted Peri, about fifteen spaces to his left. Vernazza was two to his right.

He watched as Peri crouched slightly on his plate in preparation to spring off and get a running start to the cornucopia. Some of these kids were fast, he knew, but none of them were faster than Peri.

He looked towards the cornucopia. There were rings of supplies laid out, a common practice in recent years. Most of it was basic stuff: sleeping bags, hunting knives, canteens either full or empty, loaves of bread or packages of crackers. Further in there were backpacks of varying sizes with unknown goods inside. And at the mouth of the cornucopia were the most prized valuables: weapons, medicine, trapping equipment, food, water aplenty, tents, firekits, camouflage gear.

Soon, that would be all his for the timer must be nearing its end, he knew it, though he dare not look at his watch should he miss it.

Over them all, the voice of Patroclus Montague erupted.

"Let the one-hundred and fiftieth Hunger Games begin!" At the same time, a gong sounded and the world erupted into chaos.

Keiynan leapt off his plate, going a few good feet in the air as the plates began lowering once again into the ground.

He made a beeline for the cornucopia, glancing out of the corners of his eyes for anyone who might try and take him on.

He saw Tributes disappearing into the dark, and a few were grabbing supplies.

He saw the other Careers making for the cornucopia. Peri had already gotten there and grabbed the first weapon they laid their hands on: a long, evil-looking mace. Clearly, they didn't want to be using that for any longer than they had to, but they took up a defensive position to await the others.

Just like he had predicted, Vernazza reached the mouth second, and dug around in the weapons pile for a moment before pulling out a bow and quiver of arrows. Right then, she was probably the deadliest Tribute in the Arena.

Riva and Mica were the third and fourth to arrive, followed by him, and Sammy was the last, reaching the horn a few moments after Keiynan did.

Having their allies around, Peri dropped the mace and started digging around, finding a belt of throwing knives. They jumped off the pile of supplies, looking for a first target.

Quicker than his eyes could follow, Peri stuck the kid from District Six in the chest and they fell forward coughing out blood.

He saw a pair of Tributes fighting over supplies out in the edge of the ring, but his attention was drawn as he saw a flash of movement not too far away. He whirled, seeing the little form of the boy from District Three. He was grabbing a backpack, but dropped it as he saw Keiynan's sights lock on him.

He took off running, but tripped over a rock or some supplies or something. That was all the time he needed to catch up.

He put his foot on the small of his back and stabbed him right through the spine.

Just like that, Keiynan had his first kill of the Games.

He knew the kid was as good as dead, so he returned to his companions. Several bodies were lying around, and most of the others had fled.

There was one kid who was vanishing into the darkness, a hand pressed over a wound.

"Come on, let's follow him!" Mica shouted, waving an arm.

Keiynan jogged up to them. "Peri, Sammy, Riva, you stay here and protect the supplies. Start getting the shit from the outskirts and take the stuff from the bodies. We'll be back in a few."

With an affirming nod, he and Mica took off. It was pretty easy to follow the kid; he was bleeding pretty bad and left a decent enough trail. He was smaller and faster than both of them — Keiynan was relatively certain that this was the twelve-year-old from District Five — but he was injured and didn't have much of a lead. It wouldn't be long until they caught up to him.

* * *

 **Gavin Springfield**

 **Morning**

Gavin's pulse was like a drumbeat in his ears, urging him on into the darkness. He didn't know what was waiting for him in the Arena, but whatever it was had to be safer than what lay behind him.

However, what lay behind him was catching up with him fast, and armed with instruments of death. Coming up, he saw a little drop off that he thought he would be able to fit into, but anyone much larger than him wouldn't be. He was saved!

He dropped down onto his back and slid down the short slope and landed in a small hole. His breathing was hard and he was in a lot of pain, despite the adrenaline that was coursing through his veins. He couldn't contain the panicked sobs, and he knew that the Careers had seen him drop down here. Hopefully they wouldn't have any ranged weapons on them.

Their faces popped into his vision, blocking some of the light from above. He started screaming as they thrust their weapons down through the opening, but Gavin managed to scramble back away from them.

"No! No, no please!" he shouted, knowing it was useless to beg them. This was all a game to them, all a fun little adventure that they gained glory from. He wasn't a person to them, he was just a scared little animal who would be easy to pick off.

The boy from District Two sighed. "Come on, kid, we won't make it hurt any more than it has to," he said.

"No!" was all he could say in reply, curling into a ball and sobbing. "I want my mom," he whimpered, feeling more and more blood seeping out of his wound, like an endless waterfall of life essence. He felt himself getting weaker, but he couldn't press any harder.

"Come on, he's gonna bleed out as it is. We might as well go back and help the others."

Their footsteps faded out into the distance and once he was sure they were gone, Gavin uncurled.

He took his sweatshirt off and inspected the wound. It was deep on his side, but he didn't know enough about anatomy to know if any internal organs had been hurt or not. "Oh my god," he whispered, feeling light-headed. "Oh my god." He knew he was on camera right then, so he tried to stop crying as well as he could. He took his shirt off and ripped a strip from it, doing his best to make a bandage. He knew it wasn't going to do much though. He needed stitches, and he hadn't managed to get away from the cornucopia with anything but a bottle of pills and an empty waterskin.

With trembling hands he took out the pills and inspected them. They were for pain. He didn't know if his was the type of pain they would fix, but he figured he might as well try.

It was hard for him to take the pills, especially since he didn't have any water to wash them down with, but eventually he did get them to go down his throat.

He leaned back, trying to keep the flow of blood at least somewhat slowed.

"Mamma, dad," he whispered, tears coming to his eyes again. "I'm sorry." He knew they were watching him right now. His was an agonizing death, he was a young Tribute. They would want to show every excruciating minute of his last few hours of life. "I didn't want to die. I don't want to die. Oh God I don't want to die." He broke down into sobs again, gagging. He leaned over and retched. He wasn't sure if the blood that was slowly pooling in the bottom of the his cave was mixing with the vomit, or if the blood came from his stomach, but he figured it didn't make much of a difference. He knew he was a goner. He may not have known much about medicine, but he had watched enough Hunger Games in his short life to know that there wasn't much that could help him at this point. All he could really do was talk to the cameras, try and comfort his parents and his friends as they watched him die, a million miles away.

"I'm sorry I didn't let you baby me," he said. He would give anything right then to have his mother coo at him, to let her hold him in her arms until he fell asleep. He would give anything to just feel safe, to be able to laugh with his friends and feel sad that Neil was bullying him again. "I'm sorry about every mean thing I said to you guys. You're the best. I don't wanna die, mamma, please." He felt himself getting lightheaded, and he knew it wouldn't be long until he totally passed out.

"Liv, Jessie, you guys are the — the best friends I could ever ask for. I love you guys too. I'm sorry."

Slowly, he leaned over and laid down, watching as a caterpillar crawled across a glowing mushroom. "I'm sorry. I don't want to die. I didn't want to die. I'm sorry Neil, I'm sorry for whatever I did... I'm sorry..."

He was babbling now, he couldn't even control the words coming from his mouth. He knew he was still bleeding profusely, and his heartbeats kept getting slower. The pain had stopped, though, so he supposed that was something. All he could really do was mutter nonsense to the cameras, hoping his family would hear him and be comforted. He just wished he could feel his parents' arms around him one more time, to spend one more night in bed with them, happy and safe.

He supposed he would have to find some comfort in the caterpillar.

* * *

 **Desmond Shard**

 **Morning**

The moment the gong went off, every plan he had laid out, everything he was going to do, flew out of his mind and the animalistic instinct to flee took over.

He didn't even remember the path he had taken to get where he was. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder, a hefty rock in one hand and a short knife in the other. He was still jogging at a decently quick pace. He kept glancing over his shoulder. There was sweat drenching his whole body, despite the relative chill of the air in this cavern, but otherwise he had escaped the Bloodbath unscathed.

There was just one problem though: he had completely abandoned his whole alliance, and had no way of finding them.

Going through the Hunger Games alone was _not_ how he had hoped to do this, but now it seemed like it was his only choice.

He must have been running for over an hour, but the fear of the carnage at the cornucopia kept the fatigue from wearing on him. He wanted to get a look at what was in his backpack, but he didn't want to take the time to stop. Instead, he put the knife between his teeth and brought the backpack around to his front. It was tough to get the zipper undone, but he managed to open the bag while still maintaining a decent pace. Inside was a coil of rope, a half-loaf of bread and a soft clump of cheese, and a coat neatly folded in the bottom.

He smiled. Food was good, and the coat would definitely make it easier to manage the nights — if, indeed, it got colder at night. He would never risk a fire unless he was literally dying of hypothermia, since being stabbed or beaten to death was probably less painful and miserable.

The only problem with his haul from the cornucopia was that he didn't have any water, or anything to hold water if he found it. So that was his second task. First task was to get as much distance between him and the cornucopia as possible.

He tried to think back, tried to recall the memories from less than two hours ago, trying to see the images to know if he had seen anyone else coming in a similar direction to him, and where his allies had gone. He didn't know if there was any hope to find them again, and maybe it was more dangerous to go searching for them and risking running into the Careers.

He supposed he couldn't even know who among them, if any, had survived the Bloodbath.

Not until that night, at least.

But surely at least one of the others had survived. He hoped the best for them.

He mentally started going through the checklist in his mind as he put the backpack back on. Food was taken care of, at least for the time being. The rope might be good at catching any food that might wander around, though he might have to stoop to eating bugs. Water was the most immediate concern, once he felt as though he had run a decent distance. He wanted to keep walking but look for water at the same time. He had watched enough Career Packs over the years to know that they liked to go out and hunt for the first night. He wanted to be as far away as he could before they decided to set out. He didn't have anything to purify the water, which was definitely a concern. He wondered if water underground was safer to drink than the stuff that was usually found in the Arena. He didn't know, but as he had no real way of purifying it, he had to take his chances. He wasn't a fan, though, as he had seen way too many Tributes die of horrible bowel diseases over the years. They usually didn't put the cameras on them for long, but it was always pretty nasty.

Shard _definitely_ didn't want to end up like that.

After a little while of jogging, when the initial adrenaline wore off and he became aware of just how fucking _tired_ he was, he slowed down to a walk. He was panting hard, and sweating, but he didn't want to stop to catch his breath. He didn't even want to stop long enough to take the sweatshirt off. He figured he would be upset later if he didn't absorb all of his own body heat while he could.

His stomach was rumbling, but seeing how little food he had he didn't want to eat any, even though the cheese looked really good.

Instead he just hummed quietly to himself, figuring he would hear someone's feet before they heard his humming. He had to do _something_ to ward off complete panic. He had been almost entirely relying on his allies to make up for his severe lack of skills, but now that he was all alone, he had to do what he could with what he had. Hopefully all the years of watching the Games would give him at least half a chance in hell.

* * *

 **Vernazza Riviera**

 **Afternoon**

It wasn't that long until Keiynan and Mica returned from hunting the little kid.

"Did you get him?" Peri asked, standing up as they emerged from the darkness.

"We didn't have to," Keiynan said casually. "He dropped down into a hole out of our reach, but the wound was bad enough. I'd imagine we'll hear his canon soon."

"Speaking of canons," Vernazza said, glancing around at the dead bodies. "We should probably clear out. I'd imagine they want to get in to pick them up."

Keiynan looked up into the seemingly endless darkness above them. "How do you think they get the hovercraft in?" he asked. "Assuming there's actually rock up there."

"Who knows?" she replied, shrugging. She stooped, picking up an apple as she trotted away from the cornucopia.

The clearing was relatively flat, and was ringed by several tall glowing mushrooms. She leaned against one of them as the others followed her. "You think these are edible?" she asked, inclining her head.

"Probably not," Riva said. "They wouldn't make them that common if we could eat them."

"Starting to wish I had spent more time at the edible plants station," Peri said.

They all stopped and fell silent as canons sounded. Vernazza shut her eyes and counted. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

She cast her eyes into the clearing. Only four bodies. She assumed the fifth was the little kid they had chased off.

Silently, several claws reached down from above them, picking up the bodies.

Peri watched the claws sadly. "One of them was Dazzle," they murmured. "I feel bad for her. And her boyfriend."

Mica raised his eyebrows at them. "You feel bad for her? Bad move, man."

They sent him a look. "I'm allowed to feel bad," they retorted. "Doesn't mean I won't be able to do what has to be done. You know that. I killed someone today." The edge in their voice faded away and they sighed. "She just hated it so much. She didn't want to be here. She just wanted to see her boyfriend again."

"None of us want to be here, Peri," Sammy said, the first words he had spoken all day. "None of those people out there wanted to be here, and we killed them anyway."

"Maybe it's just because I was her District Partner," they muttered. The claws having done their work, Peri made their way back towards the cornucopia, resuming their work picking over the provisions.

Vernazza followed them, finishing her apple. "We should go out and find some of the others. I'm sure someone out there is injured, or just didn't get really far."

"Give us a minute to rest first, why don't you," Keiynan replied. He sat down on a rock. Peri brought him a piece of bread with some butter spread over it.

"What are our supplies looking like?" he asked.

Peri looked around. "We haven't had enough time to look over everything, and haven't even started on the backpacks, but so far we've got our pick of weapons, plenty of food, and medicine. We've got ten water bottles, but nothing to purify it with. At least, not anything I've found yet."

"If we don't have any purifier, how are we going to drink water we find?" Sammy asked.

"We might have to boil it."

Peri frowned. "But what about the other Tributes? If they light a fire, they're putting themselves in danger, so they won't do it. That means they'd get sick."

Everyone fell silent for a moment, looking over their supplies. They were dead without water. But the Gamemakers wouldn't give them water in the Arena if it made them sick, would they? Tributes dying of cholera or a parasite wasn't fun for the audience, and antithetical to the point of the Games.

"We must not need to purify it then," Riva said. Everyone looked at her like she was crazy. "Think about it. Water above ground is exposed to all sorts of shit, that must be where the bacteria comes from. Underground, it seeps in from the rain up above. The soil has to purify it, or something."

"In that case, all we need to do is find a source of water, and we're fine."

"We can do that while we go look for people who got away," Vernazza said.

Keiynan nodded, picking up a backpack. He started putting supplies in it. "Who wants to stay here and watch?"

Sammy raised his hand.

"I'll stay here with Sammy!" Peri added, jumping up.

Riva bit her lip. Vernazza kind of got the feeling she wasn't really a fan of the whole killing thing.

She'd have to get over that, though.

"Alright, the rest of you, pack some supplies, get the weapons you want, and come with me. We leave in five minutes."

Vernazza put her bow around her shoulders, grabbed a small bag and loaded it with a water flask and a few protein bars, and waited patiently for the others to get ready.

Soon, Keiynan approached, a sword slung around his waist and a bag on his back. "Let's head out," he said. "Someone pick a direction."

"I hurt a girl, but she got away. I saw her heading that way," Vernazza said, pointing past the tail of the cornucopia. "District Ten."

"Good a way as any," Mica said.

Keiynan took off at a light jog, and the others follwed.

Running like this was easy work for her, but the others obviously weren't as used to it as she was. Good, it was nice to know she filled a niche. The only other agile and fast person was Peri.

They ran for a while before slowing down. Vernazza didn't know if they would be able to catch up with the girl, but she figured if she was injured she wasn't getting anywhere fast.

Eventually, they started seeing signs of a wounded person coming through the area. A person who didn't seem completely in control of their physical faculties at that. There was a bloody handprint on a rock as they passed, and Riva called out for them to stop. She stooped down. "There's blood droplets here," she said, pointing to the stains. She tested them with her finger. "They're still tacky. That means whoever dropped them can't be too far away."

"Come on," Keiynan said. He took off at a run. "Keep your eyes open for any other signs."

They had nearly missed it. If Vernazza hadn't turned her eyes at the exact right moment, they probably would have run right past it. She saw a dark patch in the dirt, just barely showing in the low light.

"Hey guys," she said quietly. She waved them over and they stopped. She kept her voice low, so as not to alert the Tribute to their presence. She looked up, scanning the nearby area for anywhere a moderately sized person could slip into and hide. There were several rock formations around, and a few cliffs and valleys pock-marked with cave entrances.

She turned to them. "Run off, and be loud about it," she whispered. She took her bow out and readied an arrow, pointing it at the nearest set of cave entrances. An injured person wouldn't be able to climb all that high, and would have definitely smeared blood all over the place. That meant that they had to be hiding near the ground. The immediate instinct would be to find a cave and cower.

"Come on guys," Keiynan said. "Let's keep looking. I don't think they're around here." They turned and ran off, making sure to kick as many rocks as they could.

Vernazza felt her heart beating in her ears. This was her chance: her first kill of the Games. This would be her test to prove to everyone who doubted her that despite her youth, despite the fact that she was faster than she was strong, despite everything that made her "unworthy" of being the Chosen Volunteer from District Two, she was going to be the best there was.

She held her breath and stood perfectly still, knowing that the slightest movement would give her away.

Then, a few rocks stuttered and went pattering down a hill. A head of black hair appeared out the mouth of a cave. Vernazza let her arrow fly, but at the same time, the girl spotted her. She screeched and took off, disappearing behind a rock formation.

"Oh no you don't," Vernazza hissed. She readied another arrow and took off. She wasn't going to let her get away. _Fuck. No._

She took off after her. She could hear her allies' approaching steps from behind her, but she didn't look back. This was her kill, and she wasn't going to let the others take it from her.

She rounded the corner, heavy boots sliding on pebbles, and saw District Ten's hair flash around another bend. She was faster than this malnourished girl, she knew she was. So she pushed herself faster, pushed past the fatigue from running for two hours, past any sort of reluctance she might have for taking part in this shit, and pursued.

Around another corner, almost slipping, she saw the girl. She knew she had a bow, and had seen her shoot in training. She was smart. She was zig-zagging rapidly, but that wasn't going to be able to save her. She was out in the open now, nothing to hide her. Vernazza came to a stop, raised her bow, and released.

The arrow landed just a few inches below her heart. The girl cried out and fell, like a deer struck mid-stride. It wasn't an instant kill shot, though. She had two choices: take her out from range, or get her hands dirty and save the arrow.

She knew there were more quivers waiting at the cornucopia, at least four of them. That was about two dozen arrows. She knew she would lose probably around ten, either from being unable to recover them or sundry other circumstances. Bows were her weapon of choice.

So she approached the girl. She had curled up into a ball and was choking. Blood was spilling from the corners of her mouth. Vernazza must have knicked her lung. If left, she'd die in a few minutes from lack of oxygen. But it would be painful, she knew it, and no matter how much she wanted to prove herself, she didn't want anyone to suffer. Dying was shitty enough as it was.

So instead, she knelt beside her and took her knife from her belt. She rolled her victim onto her back. She was too weak to put up much of a fight.

She had learned the best ways to kill someone with a knife. It was taught at the academy. She learned all the ways to make it quick, and all the ways to make it painful.

It sounded like District Ten was trying to say something, but Vernazza couldn't make out what. "Sorry," she said, before reaching over and cutting into her jugular.

Blood spurt out immediately, drenching the ground with blood. She went limp as she fell unconscious. Just to make it quicker, she slit the other one.

A quick search found no supplies, and she wiped the blade on the girl's shirt before standing up. The others came to a stop a few feet behind her and the canon went off.

She turned and looked at them. She couldn't read any faces, though Riva looked positively green.

"Come on," she said. "We should get out of here so they can pick her up."

"Are we going to look for more or are we heading back to the cornucopia?" Mica asked.

Keiynan shrugged. "Dunno. Anyone feeling sleepy yet?"

They retreated a decent distance away and watched as the claw appeared from the darkness and bore the corpse upwards.

"I'm fine," Vernazza said. "Though something tells me any of the Tributes with half a brain wouldn't stay within a day's walk from the cornucopia."

"Maybe you're right. Still, can't hurt to look. We need to find water anyway. We'll go at an easier pace this time."

With nothing else said, they all turned and continued in about the same direction they had been going in.

"The worst thing about being underground is that we don't have the sun or moon to give us a compass," Riva said quietly. "What if we get lost?"

Keiynan dug around in his pack and drew out a small, compact meal disk.

"There's compasses in a whole bunch of the supplies," he replied. "They made the cornucopia the magnetic center of the Arena. They want us to be able to find it. The Gamemakers wouldn't just hang us out to dry. When the time comes when they want us to come together, they're going to make sure we know where it is."

* * *

 **Patroclus Montague**

 **Night**

Patroclus shut her eyes as her makeup artist blotted more eyeshadow on.

The door behind her chair opened, and the quiet young voice of this week's star intern spoke up. "Ms. Montague, you're on in five."

"How's the crowd out there, darling?"

"Standing room only, ma'am. If I can speak freely, I think this idea is great. It's sure to bring more personality to the Games. The nights get so tedious, you know."

She hummed. "Thank you, sweetheart. What was your name again?"

"Corinthia, ma'am."

"Corinthia. What a lovely name. Biblical?"

"That's what my parents said."

The makeup artist finished with her eyeshadow and with a wave, he stepped away. Patroclus turned in her chair and eyed the slim girl. "You're a good worker, Corinthia. But no one likes a schmooze."

All the blood poured from the poor girl's face. "I'm sorry," she said, bowing her head in shame.

"Don't worry about it darling. Just be glad you work for me, someone who's not afraid to mould you into a picturesque young person."

"Absolutely. Thank you. Three minutes, ma'am."

"Thank you, sweetheart."

She turned back around as the door shut and allowed the finishing touches to be put on. "Of course my idea is wonderful," she said, standing and fixing her hair. "I'm a genius."

With that, she left her makeup room and went to the stage. She watched as the stagehand counted down on his fingers, and she climbed the stairs.

The crowd was deafening, of course. She would expect no less.

"Good evening, people of Panem!" she called, opening her arms. The lights raised, and one by one the monitors behind her lit up. They showed the cameras following every Tribute in the Arena, and the large one in the center showed the seal of the country.

"What an _exciting_ day we have had, huh?" She took her seat stage right. There was another screen in front of her, so she could watch along with the views without craning her neck.

"So, now that some of the excitement has died down, shall we have a quick recap?"

A bracket appeared on the bottom half of the large screen. On it were pictures of every Tribute, their training score, and their status. Currently, all of them read "Alive."

"Our first death of the sixth Quarter Quell was Marley Nash!"

Marley's image was enlarged and their status changed to "Dead."

"The kill was made by Imperial Baines."

"Killed by: Imperial Baines (1)" showed up beneath the headshot. As the image returned to its normal size and place, a replay of the death was shown.

Next they watched as Keiynan Edgar stabbed the boy from District Three.

The crowd groaned in sympathy as he fell. It was always a tragedy when the cute ones died early. "What a shame. I really liked him," Patroclus said.

She reached over the arm of her chair and picked up the glass of wine which had been set out, taking a delicate sip of it.

The video continued, focusing now on a pair of girls wrestling for a backpack. One of them — the girl from District Seven — got a hold of a knife and stabbed the other girl through the chest. She wrenched the bag out of her hands and stood, running away from the cornucopia.

"Kaia Brock from District Eleven! Killed by Rosewood Hart."

The video resumed. The boy who had ripped his costume off during chariots wrenched the knife from Kaia's chest and tackled Dazzle Brightsong with it. In a show of great ferocity, he stabbed her six times.

"What spunk from Boden Clarie! Our third death was Dazzle Brightsong from District One."

They watched as Gavin, the sweet little twelve-year-old, was injured by Mica Carrack, and the crowd went wild as he managed to escape with his life. Of course, they had all watched how it ended, but they didn't care; it was heart wrenching to watch, even the second time.

The video then changed to see Ari Masuda narrowly avoid an arrow from Vernazza Rivierra's bow. She had been killed not more than an hour ago. Patroclus was sure the audience still felt her death keenly.

They watched as Kieynan and Mica followed Gavin, and then the pursuit and death of Ari. After no more than a half an hour, they had caught up to real time. "Let's check in on everyone," she said.

One by one, the camera switched from viewpoint to viewpoint, following all of the remaining Tributes. "We can see our inner-District alliance here," she said. "Four of them out searching for water, the other two keeping guard at the cornucopia. Oh, but look! I hadn't noticed until just now. Samuel Cookson of District Eight has joined the Careers! What an interesting strategy! I mean, I don't blame them. He looks strong enough to lift a car! I'm sure he will make an excellent addition to their alliance."

Many of the other Tributes were still running or walking away from the cornucopia. A few had stopped to rest for the night, finding hidden caves and alcoves that would hide them from the prowling eyes of other Tributes.

"With no wood to burn, it's sure to be a chilly night in the Arena," Patroclus said. The main camera switched viewpoints and was following Viola Batiste, the little girl from District Eight. Jee was surrounded by four others.

"What a group!" she exclaimed. "Let's see, who do we have here? It looks like... Ayana Wainwright, from District Twelve. Rosewood Hart — whom we saw earlier. Her District Partner, Cedar Wayne, Viola Batiste of District Eight, and Idalah Aven of District Eleven. This is certainly the largest alliance of outer-District Tributes I've seen in all my years! How exciting!"

The audience erupted in cheers. A change of pace always rattled them up, it seemed, and it was refreshing to see that maybe the Careers weren't a shoe-in for the win this year.

They didn't really seem to be doing anything particularly interesting, so once again the camera's viewpoint switched. Soren Aurasio was limping along, weaving in and out of the stalks of the mushrooms. He seemed to have been running all day, poor thing.

Moments later, the camera switched again. Ranine Montero was curled up beside a pool of water, drinking from it heavily. "Looks like Mr. Montero is one of the first Tributes of the Games to find a source of water! Only time will tell if he will be able to remain here, however."

The camera switched through the remaining Tributes; all of them seemed to be in about the same place. Then, they got to the Tribute everyone was waiting for.

"Here we have Baia Kell and her District Partner Blake Venturi."

The crowd exploded once again.

"They seem to be doing well enough for themselves, between the two of them." Both had backpacks swung over their shoulders, and although they weren't talking, Patroclus could tell by the look on their faces that they were in better shape and higher spirits than many of the others.

"Baia Kell has been in this spot before, as we all know. Naturally she's taking the lead, and it seems Blake is calmed by her knowledge. I'm sure this pair will go far!"

The main monitor went dark, briefly, before the seal of Panem reappeared and the audience's attention was directed back to Patroclus. "Now that we all know the status and the goings-on in the Arena, I want to take a few moments to talk about some projections. Now, I know it's early, but I also know that people make bets and brackets before the Reapings even happen so I daresay I'm right on time! For this segment, I'm happy to bring my partner Mavius Hightower!"

More cheers as her co-commentator appeared on the stage.

She stood up to meet zem, clasping zir hands in hers. "Welcome!" she said. "I'm so glad I could pull you from the comment booth to grace us all with your presence."

"Oh hush, Patroclus, you know I always love talking to you about the Games," Mavius replied, waving zir hand around. "And I really think that giving a little show that really highlights what we all love about the Games is a fantastic way to shake things up. Besides, Regal is hard at work in the booth still, and he'll alert us if we miss anything too exciting."

"Well, Mave, tell me: what do the polls look like? Do we have any really strong early starts?"

Mavius brought out a compact tablet and laid it across zir crossed knee. "Well, so far the crowd favorite seems to be Baia Kell, closely followed by Keiynan Edgar."

"I can't say I'm surprised. Those two really are the stars this year, aren't they? What do the polls say about a projected winner?"

"While it's always too early to tell up until the final four — at the earliest — Keiynan Edgar seems like the fan favorite."

"I'm sure people are lining up around the block to sponsor him."

Mave laughed delicately. "Of that I'm almost certain. He certainly seems like Victor material."

* * *

 **A/N: So this was the first day of the Games! I'll update the status of the Tributes tomorrow if I remember.**

 **I'm hoping the stuff with Patroclus wasn't dragging on or anything, I really wanted to be able to show how the other Tributes were fairing. Let me know what you thought of that segment!**

 **Also, I'm really excited for this Arena, and I hope you all love it as much as I do. There's definitely some serious drawbacks with having an underground Arena, but I also love the aesthetic lol so aesthetic wins.**

 **CQ: Who are** _ **your**_ **projected Victors? (Or finalists, if you can't decide on one). I'm so excited to be on the Games finally, see y'all next week!**


	35. Alchemize Anger to Sadness:Games Day Two

**Clio Cosette**

 **Morning**

Clio was having the worst twenty-four hours of her life. She was pretty sure that most of the other Tributes in the Arena would share that sentiment. She wouldn't be so upset if she hadn't gotten separated from her alliance and had to run off alone.

She was glad she had at least _survived_ , though. She thought back to the night before, where she had watched the faces of all the Tributes who were gone forever flash across the sky. She had done her best not to get attached to anyone, but it still felt awful, knowing that they had died while she survived. She didn't think she was any more likely to win than they were, but there was a certain amount of guilt.

She mourned for their families, their friends.

She thought of her friends, her partners — even her family, though their relationship had been strained for the last few years.

She felt tears well up in her eyes as she thought of Ed and Padoa, sitting curled up together, holding each other as they prayed for her safety. She wished more than anything that she could assuage their fears, hug them and reassure them that it would all be okay.

But it wasn't going to _be_ okay, and she knew that.

She knew she had to get up. It had to be past early morning by now, and the Careers would likely be out there somewhere. She hadn't gotten far enough away from the cornucopia last night; she was in danger the longer she laid there.

But she couldn't move, paralyzed by her fear and sadness. She knew she didn't want to die, but did she want to continue living? Fighting feebly and ultimately futiley to keep above the surf? Wouldn't it be so much easier to just let them find her?

Then she thought of everyone waiting for her back home again. She had to keep fighting, for their sakes if not her own. If they saw her give up it would break them. She needed to at least fight to stay alive, no matter how pointless it was.

She stirred and stood, shaking out her freezing, stiff limbs. She hadn't gotten away from the bloodbath with much, but the sweaters they were all outfitted with were warm and thick, so while she had been cold, it wasn't brutal. The longer she spent in the Arena, though, the worse it would get.

Just as she was about to emerge from the mouth of the outcropping she had been camping under, she heard footsteps pounding the ground nearby. She froze, like a frightened rabbit caught in the eyes of a wolf, and retreated back into the shadows.

Chances were, they hadn't seen her or heard her yet, so there was hope that she would be okay. She didn't know where they were, though, so she knew she couldn't run. All she could do was withdraw into her hiding place and hope they didn't find her.

She felt her heartbeat pick up, and her breathing got faster. She tried to count the footsteps, strained her ears to hear voices. After all, this could be her allies, not the Careers. They were almost as big a group.

She couldn't risk it for a look, though. She knew the Careers would be out prowling all day, looking for the fools who didn't run far or fast enough.

Slowly, as the footsteps move closer, she shifted onto the balls of her feet, crouching. She needed to be ready to make a run for it if she was spotted. All she could really hope for was that she saw them before they saw her. That was her only chance. She had seen the girl from District Two with her bow, and Imperial with their knives. If they got within range of her, she was a goner for sure. So all she could do was hope she got away fast enough and find some cover to run behind so she could lose them.

The footsteps got closer and she could make out at least three. She didn't know exactly how many, and there was still the possibility that these were her allies.

She cursed how exposed her hiding place was. All that was keeping her concealed was a rock overhang. There was about three feet of clearance between the edge and the ground. She wouldn't be hard to spot, especially if they were looking for someone.

Her heart leapt up into her throat as she saw a pair of boots to her left. She stared at them. The group slowed, and she could hear hushed voices.

"I swear I saw footprints back there. I don't know how fresh they were, but they don't go too much further."

She tried to remember the voice. She knew it wasn't someone in her alliance, and judging by their accent, they were from an inner-District.

Fuck.

All she could do was pray that they moved on, that they missed her little outcropping and didn't look too hard.

She knew that was foolish, though. She knew there was no way in fucking hell they would just abandon footprints like that.

So, she had two options. She could either wait here as still as she could make herself and hope that the odds were in fact in her favor, or she could risk it and run off, hoping that her speed and the element of surprise was enough to save her life.

So, stealing herself, she shifted — slowly, inch by inch, in order to make as little sound as possible — to the right, ready to spring out of the hiding place and into the open.

She shut her eyes for a moment, and then counted down silently, mouthing the words. "One... two... three!" With that she leapt out of the shadows. She heard the Careers shout from behind her, but she didn't dare look back. If she was about to get an arrow or a knife in the back, she didn't want to see it coming.

She ran as fast as she could on legs that were still somewhat numb and leapt off a short cliff. She felt her ankles protest, but she didn't heed the pain. A sprained or bruised ankle wasn't going to end her life. If she stopped or faltered, she would almost certainly be dead.

She kept her head ducked in the hopes of protecting her more vital places, though she knew that Vernazza could easily hit one of her vital organs.

She heard more shouts from behind her, but kept her eyes forward, searching for another way out, another place to jump so she wouldn't be such a sitting duck.

She saw a hill leading out of the small canyon she had jumped into and sprang up it, reaching the top in seconds. She kept running in that direction, heedless of where she was going and where her hunters were. The only instincts in her mind were to run and find a place to hide.

She felt a stab in the small of her back and faltered, but didn't fall. To fall meant to die. She had to push through the pain and keep going. At least with an arrow sticking out of her she had a chance.

The momentary stumble was all that was needed, though.

After only a few more steps, she felt hands grab her shirt from behind and the collar choked her as she was yanked back.

She struggled and screamed, doing all she could to wrench herself out of the grasp. The person who had grabbed her wasn't as strong as she was, she could tell, but she was losing blood fast and was quickly weakening. She bit wherever she felt flesh that wasn't her own, and felt her teeth sink into someone's hand.

"Fuck!"

She wrestled harder, knowing that whoever had grabbed her would be thrown off-balance by the injury.

Blood splattered on her face, but she didn't know whose it was.

She was pinned, and a pair of knees jabbed into her shoulders. She cried out in pain and howled, still trying to wiggle her way out.

She knew it was hopeless though.

Above her, she saw the grim face of Imperial, struggling to grab out a knife from their belt while keeping her down. She screamed every obscenity she knew, bringing her knees up in a useless attempt to hurt them, to get them off, to do _anything_ that might save her.

The last thing Clio saw was Peri finally managing to get a knife free and bringing it down into her chest.

She didn't die at that moment, though, of course.

Her strength gone, and Peri knowing that their work was done, stood up. Clio couldn't see anything, and she didn't know if it was because she was dying or because she was staring into the black abyss above them.

She felt her body getting weaker, fast. She coughed and choked as blood entered her windpipe. She convulsed, though her muscles were weak. She tried to turn over, tried to form words, a last goodbye to everyone she loved, but nothing came.

* * *

 **Baia Kell**

 **Morning**

The sound of a canon made Blake and Baia jump.

The day had been otherwise silent, and it made them both uneasy.

There were no birds, of course, and while Baia had seen a few small lizards skittering around, they didn't hear much else.

After recovering from their fright, Blake sighed, looking over her shoulder in the direction the canon had come. "I wonder who that was," she said quietly.

"I don't know," Baia replied. "I guess we'll find out tonight."

She looked over at her. Her face was covered in sweat, and her breaths came out in pants. They had been walking almost nonstop all night, taking only a few breaks. Baia was in pain too, but she was also a lot more well-fed than Blake was.

"You doing okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," she replied. "Just, you know. Not used to long-distance stuff."

Baia glanced around. She spotted a large rock that would give them at least a little bit of cover so they could stop and rest. She made her way over to it. "Come on," she said. "We need a break."

"No, Baia, really, I'm okay."

She turned and looked at her, smiling slightly. "Shut up. I'm thirsty too, don't argue."

Blake sighed and followed her. They both took their backpacks off and sat down. Baia took out the canteen they had been drinking off and took a small drink before handing it to her ally. "Hungry?" she asked.

"Not really. We need to conserve our food anyway. Who knows how many animals there are in this place."

She smiled. "I wouldn't be too concerned. The Gamemakers will make sure there's ample food, for those of us who know how to find it. They don't want their precious Tributes starving to death, that's for sure."

"Not enough to be happy with, I'm sure. They aren't called the Hunger Games for nothing."

Baia laughed. "You're probably right. But once we get far enough away from the cornucopia, so the Careers aren't likely to find us, we can look for a place to camp out. Hopefully near a stream and somewhat hidden. If we find water, food will come too."

Blake leaned her head back and shut her eyes. "I'm so fucking glad you're my ally," she said. "The Careers may have all the strength and all the supplies, but nothing beats having a Victor by your side."

"Well, I'm not so sure about that," she replied. "My experience isn't good for shit if we don't get weapons. Right now, if we were jumped, we wouldn't be able to do much to defend ourselves."

"Well there's plenty of rocks. We could probably bludgeon someone to death."

"That takes lots of strength, and you need to get close to them first. It's hard when they've got a sword or a spear on us."

"Or Vernazza with her bow." She sighed. "You're right."

"But that doesn't mean we're down for the count. We can probably _make_ weapons if we need to."

"With what? There isn't any wood down here."

"There are ways. Think about the weapon-crafting station. A lot of the time — according to Abdul, at least — the training stations have clues about the Arena. So subtle you don't pick them up at first, but once you get into the Arena it all makes sense."

"Like the foraging station," Blake said. "There were tons of mushrooms there, as well as berries and herbs and things. I didn't think anything of it, since I've never seen the training station — no one has, but you. But now it all makes sense."

Baia smiled. "I had a theory, when I saw how many mushrooms there were. But I figured that we'd just be in a forest where mushrooms grew, or something. But think about the weapon-crafting. There was wood, of course, but what else?"

"Stones — flakes of obsidian and flint. They taught us to make blades out of it, and to attach it to sticks."

"But without sticks, all we've got is a knife." Baia shrugged. "It's better than a blunt rock."

"You think there's obsidian around here?"

She looked out into the darkness. "Maybe. Probably. If not specifically obsidian or flint, then maybe other rocks you can make blades out of."

She nodded. "Well, at least there's that," she said. She stood up, looking cautiously around. "Come on, we should go. I don't want to stay in one place too long without cover."

"Yeah no kidding."

They started out again, walking a little faster than before. The few minutes of rest hadn't really made the work any easier, but even sitting there for a few minutes made them both nervous.

They walked for hours and didn't hear or see any sign of another human being. They found an underground stream and refilled their canteens. It didn't go for very far, but Baia was reluctant to leave it.

"Who knows when we'll find water again," she said as they sat by the water, splashing it on their faces and combing out their hair. It was fucking _cold_ , but it was refreshing and revitalizing. It was just nice not to have their faces coated in sweat and dirt.

"Maybe we should look around. There might be a place we can hide out nearby. At least for the time being."

"Pick a direction," Baia said. "We'll go about five minutes in every direction. If we don't find anything worthwhile we can move on and hope there's more sources of water than this."

"There's got to be. In the whole Arena?"

"Well of course there is, but the Gamemakers might have staggered water sources so they're more plentiful the closer to the center you get. That way they can herd us together."

She grimaced. "Right. Well, in that case, let's go left."

They set out in that direction, casting their eyes around to all the cliffs and rock formations and dips in the ground, looking for anything that might hide them well enough to make a semi-permanent shelter.

About five minutes passed, and they turned around. They went forward from the stream and found still nothing. As they went to the right of the stream, Baia felt her spirits take a dive. She had been holding out hope — maybe more than was due — that they would get lucky.

Suddenly, Blake stopped. "Look," she said, pointing.

Baia followed her finger and saw a cave nestled in the side of the rock. It was hard to see, and high up. It was accessible, though. There was a small ledge leading up to it. "Getting in and out might be a little dangerous."

"Yeah, maybe," she said. "But it'd be twice as dangerous for the others. Especially if we go in and out a lot, we'll get used to it."

"Hm. Do you want to keep looking?"

"If you think it's a bad idea, then yeah. I definitely don't want to die because I slipped on a ledge."

Baia stared at the cave for a moment. "Let's go up there, see how deadly that ledge actually is. We just have to be careful."

They slowly climbed up the face of the cliff, before Baia held up a hand. "This isn't going to work," she said. "The ledge is _way_ too thin up here. Plus, getting up and down takes too long. If we're trying to get undercover from the Careers, we'd be full of arrows before we get halfway up the rock."

Blake's shoulders fell. "Yeah, you're right," she said.

"Hey, don't get discouraged. It was a good idea. We'll find something else. These cliffs are covered in hiding places. Don't worry about it."

They made their way carefully back down to the ground and walked along the cliff. There were several more openings in the rock, but none that were deep enough to offer any real cover.

Then, only about two feet off the ground was a ledge that led around a corner and into the cliff.

"This might be good," Blake said. She turned and jumped up onto the ledge, standing up and peeking around the corner.

"Be careful," she said as she followed. "We don't know who or what might have gotten here first."

Blake squinted into the darkness. "I wish we had a light of some kind," she said.

"Hmm," Baia said. She turned and looked down at the bright, fluorescent mushrooms that provided the only light in the Arena. "Maybe we can use one of those," she said.

She jumped from the ledge and went towards a clump of them. She didn't know how long the glow would last once they got picked, but she had also never seen a glowing mushroom before. Chances were, these were mushrooms of the Gamemakers' design, so who knew what kind of strange characteristics they had. She found a patch of moderately large mushrooms, about flashlight size, and pulled them up. She shut her eyes and covered her nose with her arm at the outpouring of spores. Again, who knew what deadly traps the Gamemakers had laid for them.

She brought the bouquet back over to the ledge and handed them up to Blake, who clasped her hands together in mock surprise. "Oh for me? You shouldn't have!"

Baia laughed, feeling for the first time genuine happiness since the Reaping. "Shut up and take the glowing fungus."

Blake took them from her hands and went into the cave.

She followed her, looking around. The mushrooms provided surprisingly good light: like dim, blue flashlights.

It wasn't a particularly deep cave, only going back about thirty feet, but it was deep enough that they could safely sleep away from the mouth of the cave.

"We'll have to find a way to trap the entrance or something, so that we get alerted if someone tries to come in or something," Blake said.

Baia turned and looked around the walls of the cave. "There might be another problem," she said. "This cave is fucking echoey."

"Shit. You're right. Should we find somewhere else?"

She sighed. "No, I think this is good for right now. But I think our best bet is to keep near the mouth of the cave when we're awake, and sleep further back. That way our voices don't get amplified as much. I hope you don't snore."

Blake shook her head, though she was smiling. "Always with the good ideas."

They lined the walls of the cave with the mushrooms so that it was easy enough to see, but made sure that the light couldn't be seen from the mouth. The cave took a gradual turn about five feet in, which kept most of the light from spilling out.

They stood out on the ledge, examining their work. "Home sweet home," Blake said.

Baia smiled. "You're chipper."

"Just nice not to be walking anymore. I want to fucking _sit_ _down_ for a little while."

* * *

 **Soren Arausio**

 **Afternoon**

Soren was walking along a small ravine he had come across the day before, trying to distract himself from the gnawing hunger and thirst he felt. He had run from the Bloodbath the moment the bell had rung, not even bothering to try to grab supplies. Now he wished he had. He wouldn't last long out here without water. Food, though, might not be as big of a problem. There were mushrooms practically everywhere, and probably animals for those with enough skill to catch them.

He hadn't tried to eat any mushrooms yet, though. He was too afraid of them being poisonous to eat. He had studied the edible plants station closely, and he remembered a lot of the advice he had gotten from the instructor, but he also remembered that a lot of poisonous plants and mushrooms looked similar to edible ones — not to mention he was sure at least some of these were Gamemaker's creations.

He had to contain a screech as he went sliding down a hill into the ravine he had been walking along. It wasn't a long fall, but his struggle had gotten him scraped palms and what might have been a twisted ankle.

He cradled his foot in his hand, looking around in panic.

He gasped and jumped up, the pain gone as adrenaline jumped through his bloodstream. A pair of eyes were staring right at him from a small opening in the ravine. They were distinctly human, but it was too shaded to really know for sure if they actually belonged to another Tribute. Either way, it was entirely likely that he was about to die.

Despite the danger, for whatever reason, he couldn't bring his feet to life. His instincts kept screaming for him to run, but his feet seemed planted to the ground.

"Have you got a weapon?"

Shaking, eyes full of tears, Soren shook his head. "N-no," he gasped.

"Okay. Me neither. I'm gonna come out, so please don't jump at me."

He recognized that voice. It was the boy with the prosthetic, the one who had been at the edible plants station at the same time as him.

"Okay," he replied. "I promise I won't." He held his hands up. What the fuck was he doing? He should be _running_! Not standing here in the open! Who knew if he could trust this kid.

Then again, if he tried to get to him, and Soren ran off, he figured he would have the advantage.

Ranine slowly pulled himself out of his hiding place, groaning at the effort and having to lean on the rock wall to stand up again. He dusted himself off and then looked up at Soren. "You're from District Nine, right?"

"Yeah. Soren."

He nodded. "We were looking at mushrooms together."

"Yeah, I remember."

He looked him over. "You look like shit, dude."

Soren looked down at himself, feeling self-conscious suddenly.

"You thirsty?"

He looked back up. Ranine had a flask of water in his hand.

"Oh. Yeah." He took the flask and took a few drinks from it. Suddenly, his blood ran cold. "You didn't poison that, did you?"

He stared at him incredulously. "Poison it? And ruin my only source of water? No." As if in a gesture of good will, he took a drink. "I promise."

"Why — why did you share your water with me, if it's the only source you have?"

He sighed. "Nothing gets past you, huh? I was hoping to butter you up a little bit before I asked you to be my partner."

Soren blinked. "Oh." Of course, that was probably the stupidest thing that could have possibly escaped his mouth right then. "You... want to be my ally?"

"I figure I need all the help I can get," he replied, motioning down at his prosthetic.

"You managed to get away from the Bloodbath alright, and with some stuff to show for it."

He shrugged. "I guess so. Is that a no then?"

Soren took a step forward, putting his hands up. "I didn't say that," he said. "I'm just — I'm worried you're going to stab me in my sleep, or something."

He raised his eyebrows, but then smiled. "I guess I don't blame you. But again — I need all the help I can get. Stabbing allies is a bad business plan. Besides, I don't even _have_ a knife."

He couldn't help but smile back. "I guess you're right," he said. He held his hand out. "Alright, Ranine. We can be allies."

"Great."

He got back down into his little hole and started throwing supplies out. A flashlight, a package of crackers, some twine, and a roll of medical bandage. He climbed back out again. "I've only been down there for a few hours. I needed sleep last night and figured it was better than nothing as far as campsites go."

"I mean I probably would have walked right past you if you hadn't been looking right at me."

"It's not practical though." He looked back at the crack. "There's no water nearby, as far as I can tell, and anywhere we plan to stay for any amount of time needs to have water."

"Yeah..." Soren turned and looked over his shoulder. "The only water source I've seen is the one near the cornucopia. I bet the Careers are drinking their fill."

Ranine smiled. "Yeah. I don't know about you, though, but I want to stay as far as fucking possible from them. I know they've been spreading out trying to find people who didn't get far enough away."

"How big do you think the Arena is?" he asked.

He shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure. The Arenas always range in size, right? So it probably depends. And we would have no way of knowing it until we reached the edge."

He rubbed his arms as a cold chill ran down his spine. "I know the roof is really high above us, and this Arena is miles long, but I can't help but feel claustrophobic down here, you know?"

"Yeah, I understand the feeling." He picked his supplies up. He tied a piece of twine to the loop at the end of the flashlight and fastened the other end on one of his belt loops. The rest of the twine he put into his shirt, between the strap of his sports bra and his shoulder. "What good are boobs if you can't use them for convenient storage?" he asked with a smile.

Soren figured he was uncomfortable reminding himself — and maybe Soren, too — that he had boobs so he was trying to cover it up with humor.

"Yeah I guess," he replied, smiling back and allowing the moment to pass. "Here, I can take the crackers and the canteen."

He handed them over, and Soren tried to find a place on him that would secure them in place so he would have his hands free. The canteen had a loop on the end of it, so he tied that to his belt with some braided twine, and the crackers he just held. He didn't want to crush them, so there wasn't really anything else he could do with them.

"What I wouldn't give to have a backpack," he said.

"Yeah, I get it. I wanted to get stuff I knew would be helpful, though. I didn't want to risk my life on grabbing a backpack. Plus they were further in, and I was trying to skip around the outside so I could get away."

Soren smiled. "That's a good strategy. Maybe we can use the twine to weave a basket or something."

He laughed. "Yeah, maybe."

"So have you tried eating any mushrooms?" he asked after a few minutes of walking.

Ranine shook his head. "I was intending on exhausting my supply of crackers before I tried the 'shrooms. I did my best to learn about edible plants during training, but I hadn't anticipated there being _only_ mushrooms, so I focused mostly on the berries."

Soren sighed. "Yeah, I get it. This sucks, huh?"

"Yeah, it sure does."

They fell silent, then, simultaneously remembering where they were, what they were doing, and what the consequences would be if they laughed too loud or stopped paying attention. They didn't just have the Careers to think about, they also had to worry about the other Tributes. Not many of them would be willing to part ways without a fight. Seeing as neither of them had a weapon, they were probably the most vulnerable people in the Arena.

Eventually, Soren got sick of the silence. They were on a flat plane and it was totally quiet besides their footsteps; it would be hard to maintain the element of surprise. And not talking just made him anxious, it left him too much time to be in his own head, to think about everything that was causing him anxiety. It was all he could do not to break down and have a panic attack already. About the only thing that was keeping him going was probably the anxiety.

"So, what's our checklist? What do we need to do?"

"Probably the same thing everyone else in this place needs to do. Find water, that's probably our first priority. Then, find shelter. We don't have to worry about wind or rain, but since this place is so quiet and open, we need to be able to hide. Then, I figure we should probably find some food. I found a pool about three hours that way—" he gestured over his shoulder, "but it was too close to the cornucopia for comfort."

"Right. What about weapons?"

Ranine sighed. "Hopefully we won't have to worry about that. But I think in a pinch we'll have to make due with bashing someone's head in with a big rock."

Soren felt the blood drain from his face.

"What's the matter?"

"For some reason I was holding out hope that I wouldn't have to do something like that."

He smiled emptily. "Don't we all, man."

* * *

 **Mirabel Holtz**

 **Evening**

Despite the aching in her... well, everywhere, Mira kept walking. She had been walking almost non-stop since the Bloodbath the day before, and the extensive exertion was finally starting to wear on her. Of course at the moment, in addition to being sore, she was also crying, despite herself.

She knew there were cameras on her, and she could only hope that there was something more interesting than a crying Tribute going on elsewhere. But she doubted it. There would probably be no shortage of questions about _why_. The common assumption would probably be because she missed home and didn't want to be there. While that was true, she had more or less let that grief pass. Once she had been loaded up into that hovercraft and dropped into the Arena, she couldn't go forward denying it anymore, and couldn't let thoughts of home, of her mother and Callum, hold her back. She had to have all of her wits about her.

Really, though, she was crying about the others. Everyone whose faces she had seen up there the night before who would never breathe again, everyone whose corpses were on the way to the Capitol to be dressed and shipped back home to grieving families and friends, who would be lauded as tragic heroes who just didn't make the cut. It made her so fucking _angry_ , but all she could do with that anger was bottle it up and alchemize it into sadness. So she had been crying off and on all day, which she knew was a bad idea, since she only had a limited amount of water and crying would only dehydrate her, but she just couldn't help it. She wanted to scream and stomp her feet, to hurt everyone who was responsible for all this death. It wasn't fair.

Soon she would be counted among those faces, and she _hated_ it. She had to stop herself from asking why it had to happen to her, what she had done to deserve it, because there was no answer. She _didn't_ deserve it, and the only reason this was happening was because of bad fucking luck, because Ashla had been called up and she was a fucking bitch. Really, she couldn't even blame her stupid ex, not completely. She had to blame the Capitol. Rebellious thoughts had gone through her mind so much they almost crossed her lips, but she knew better. The best and quickest way to gain the Gamemakers' ire was to start spouting shit about the Capitol. She had watched as Tributes learned that the hard way.

Not like she could blame them. Now, being in the shoes of thousands of kids who had died, did she understand why the filter suddenly came off. What was there to do, in order to keep yourself from going totally insane in this hell?

Kids, younger than her, had been brutally murdered in who knew what kind of ways. A similar fate was likely waiting for her before the Games ended. It was fucking depressing and mortifying to think about.

She wiped her eyes. "Okay Mira, focus," she whispered. "You need water. There's gotta be water somewhere in this Arena. You just need to find it."

She recalled every memory she could of previous Games, and how the Tributes had found water then. "Okay, what do we know about water? It flows downhill, that's a good start." She looked around the Arena and back over her shoulder towards the way she had come. Most of this place was relatively flat, and what vertical variation existed was usually sudden in the form of cliffs and drop-offs. Not much help there. But into the darkness she noticed a gradual incline, meaning she was heading downward. Good, that meant she probably wouldn't have to backtrack.

"Okay, good. We can keep going away from the cornucopia. What else?" She took her ponytail out as she thought, running her hands through her hair. "Animals flock to water. I haven't really seen much in the way of animals, so that's not a big help. Insects, too, but most of the bugs here are worms and shit..." She put her hair back up and sighed. "Water also... hmm. Water erodes, so maybe if I can find places with sand or pebbles, I can find old river beds. So those might be a good place too."

She looked down at the clear water bottle she was holding. It was almost halfway empty, and she hadn't allowed herself to take more than a few sips every few hours, despite her constant exertion. She wondered how the other Tributes were doing. She hoped better than she was. Even though they were her competitors, most of whom would probably kill her if given the chance, she couldn't bring herself to wish ill on them. She wasn't going to delude herself by pretending that she wasn't going to kill if it came down to it. But at the end of the day, they were all victims here. Even the Careers were just victims of their own stupidity. She didn't want anyone else to die in this hole.

She rubbed her eyes. They were sore and puffy, not just from crying but from lack of sleep. She didn't want to stop walking until she knew she was far away from the center of the Arena. Far enough from the spears and bows and swords of the Careers.

She wished she had had an ally. At least then she wouldn't feel so fucking lonely. She wished she had someone to talk to, someone who would talk back and respond. She yearned for the company of someone who wasn't her own voice.

They were in an underground cavern, how rare could water really be? As rare as the Gamemakers willed it, she supposed. At the end of the day, they were all subject to their whims. And who knew just what they had in mind. They had all been pretty fucking emotionally compromised the past few days, and she could only hope that Albia Sky didn't feel like taking ver anger out on the kids in the Arena.

That was a ridiculous thing to hope for, though. Why wouldn't ve? Ve was the Head Gamemaker, had been brought to that role after the death of ver partner. A person who was twisted and sadistic enough to design new and entertaining ways to murder teenagers every year surely wouldn't have any personal qualms with taking out their feelings on those very same teenagers.

And there she went again, with those rebellious, angry thoughts that she had to fight to keep to herself. She was getting more and more used to the solitude, so the filter between her mind and her mouth was slowly failing. She had to be careful, in case she say something aloud that wasn't meant to be heard.

She walked for a few more hours before finally giving in to her exhaustion. She knew that she wouldn't be able to keep pushing herself much further, and if she did, she would probably end up hurting herself. Plus, a few hours of sleep would mean she wouldn't have to feel so hungry and thirsty. She looked around for a safe place to curl up and sleep. She spotted a large, strangely shaped rock with a dip in the center. She climbed up, looking down into it. There was a small divot at the bottom that she would easily be able to fit in, and would conceal her from anyone who might wander into the vicinity. It wouldn't be the most comfortable bed ever, but with how tired she was, Mira figured she would probably be able to sleep on hot coals if she needed to.

* * *

 **President Norma Oak**

 **Evening**

The sun was setting; the warm late spring air kissed her cheeks as she crossed the short distance from the car door to the tall building which housed the Center for Investigations in the Capitol.

For once, the streets weren't packed with people; they were all, thankfully, distracted with Patroclus Montague's nightly live show. She would be on the stage now, recapping the deaths and gushing about what a hit these Games were. The perfect distraction to keep eyes on the screens, and away from the mystery that was quickly unfolding before her. The _last_ thing she needed right then was to have the paparazzi buzzing around the corpse like flies.

The Peacekeepers straightened up as she entered the crisp white hallway and went to the elevator. Everything was deathly silent here; the only sound was the click of her heels on the laminate floors. No one accompanied her in the elevator as she shot up to the floor dedicated to murder investigations.

Surprisingly enough, there weren't many murders of this caliber in the Capitol. She supposed most of the citizens were too stupid and vain to even considering killing one another. She guessed the Hunger Games probably helped diminish the bloodlust as well.

The doors were numbered, and they ticked by as she made her way to the end of the hall. Behind each door was a different headquarters, a sprawling miniature civilization populated by those tasked with investigating, solving, and quieting cases. Behind door thirty-two was the cast of Aeneus' avengers.

She deftly inputted a series of numbers and the door slid soundlessly open. Inside was a short desk with a young person typing at a desk.

As Norma caught their attention, they stood up, hurriedly running their hands down the skirt they were wearing, subconsciously trying to smoothe imaginary wrinkles.

"Madame President," they greeted. "One moment, I'll let Mr. Luxe know that you've arrived."

"Thank you, Chillder," she replied.

The receptionist pressed a button on a receiver. "Mr. Luxe? President Oak is here."

The lead investigator's voice responded, bidding for Norma to be let in.

She pushed through the door and into the maze of cubicles and glass offices where people were looking through files, dealing with the myriad tasks required for an investigation of this magnitude.

She went across the room to the main office, where Scarlet Luxe was bent over a series of photos.

Seeing her, however, he stood and emerged from his office. "Madame President," he greeted.

She smiled graciously at him. "Scarlet," she replied. "You've dyed your hair. I must say, violet really does suit you."

"I haven't had this color since I was a teenager. I felt a little nostalgic this past weekend so a change seemed necessary."

She followed him back into the office, looking over the pictures of the crime scene. "Anything new?"

"Well," he said, sitting down and running a hand down his tattooed face. "Sort of. We've managed to confirm with all of Aeneus' Avoxes that they sent them all home the night of the murder, insisting they needed space and quiet to think. _Apparently_ , this wasn't an uncommon thing."

"Okay, so whoever did this must have known that this was their habit and taken advantage of their solitude. So it must have been someone close to them, someone who knew they were going to be alone."

He nodded. "That seems to be the most likely possibility."

"So now we need to generate a list of people who would know Aeneus' habits well enough, and who spent enough time in their apartment to know what the Avoxes looked like. They probably watched them leave from the servant's entrance."

"Right. So that's pretty much everyone in the Gamemaking team, their closest friends, their family..." He sighed and looked up at her. "We need to entertain the possibility that Albia did this, ma'am."

Norma nodded, sitting down in a nearby spare chair and leaning her forehead into her hand. "You're right," she said. "I've known Albia for years, ever since ve was brought onto the Gamemaking team. I watched ver and Aeneus' relationship blossom into what it became before the murder. And, honestly, ve's never been a particularly gifted liar or actor. I don't think ve is the murderer."

"Sometimes it's the people we suspect the least who are capable of the worst atrocities," Scarlet replied.

"Well, we'll have to see if we can corroborate her alibi for that day."

"I'll start working on it immediately."

"And do the same with the other suspects."

She rubbed her temples. The months surrounding the Games always gave her such fucking migraines, it made working a god damned nightmare.

"You alright ma'am?"

She smiled, though she knew without being able to see herself, just how tired she looked. "Of course, Scarlet. You know how hard being the ruler of an entire country can be."

"No, I really don't."

After her check-in with Scarlet was over, Norma made her way to the Gamemaker Headquarters.

The Gamemaker's schedules were always difficult to keep track of during the Games. Depending on what they had planned, some of them might leave the tower for a few hours of sleep in the middle of the day while the others remained to preside over the goings-on. If an event required a particular team member's expertise, they would have to live in the building for a few days, catching only brief naps when the Tributes were being especially boring. So it wasn't easy to know if or when Albia would leave. However, she didn't want to upset the delicate balance the team had going on at the moment, so she didn't dare interrupt them in the observation deck.

She waited for an hour, maybe more, before the elevator doors slid open and Albia emerged. Ve had heavy bags under ver eyes and a thermos in ver hand.

"I hope that's coffee," she said, standing to meet vim.

Ve smiled at her. "Yes ma'am," ve said. "What are you doing here? Has there been a break in the case? Anything new to report?"

Her conversation with Scarlet flashed through her mind, and the very real possibility that Albia was responsible for the death of the Head Gamemaker.

She smiled sympathetically and lied. That was what she did best, after all. "No, unfortunately. Not anything major, at least. We're working on finding all the suspects and locking down their alibis at the moment. Unfortunately, things are being slowed somewhat by all the press."

"Is there anything we can do to help distract the masses?"

"Something big in the Games. I'm sure you can figure it out."

"I'm sure we will."

There was a pause, and Norma thought the conversation was over. However, judging by the look on Albia's face, there was something more ve wanted to say.

"President Oak," ve started. "Why... why are you looking into this, personally? Why are you so invested? Surely the people you've hired can handle this sort of thing by themselves."

"I'm invested because I feel this death keenly. Not as keenly as you do, of course, but Aeneus was a good friend of mine. I want whoever did this to them to suffer, and I want to send a message to anyone who might try something similar: you cannot get away from the law. Or from me."

Ve smiled. "Thank you. I'll see you later. Have a good night."

"And you, Albia. Try and get some sleep. We can't have you falling asleep on deck."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Ve waved and left into ver car.

Norma watched it pull away and disappear around a corner, thinking many things but also nothing at all.

Then, she got in her own car and went home.

* * *

 **A/N: so here was the second day of the Games! I'm going to start doing it so that the Capitol POVs happen every other day.**

 **CQ: Do you think there's a possibility that Albia's the murderer?**

 **As always, thanks for reading, and let me know what you thought!**


	36. Being a Starfish: Games Day Three

**Boden Clarie**

 **Morning**

Boden fucking hated having to be patient.

He hated it probably the worst out of the long, long list of things he hated. But he knew if he tried to attack two people at once — even two wimpy kids like these — he wasn't likely to get out of the scuffle alive. He wasn't done in this Arena yet; he'd only killed one person. He wanted to be able to keep going for as long as he could. If he won, hey, that would be great. If he didn't, at least he would go out doing something he enjoyed.

He had been tracking these kids for two days. Soren and Ranine, if he remembered correctly. Originally, he had seen Soren about halfway through the first day and had decided to follow him. He was about to get him when he ran into Ranine, which had pretty much ruined his ability to get another kill. Assuming he could find a way to pick them both off, though, it would be doubly as sweet.

He was glad for the darkness; it concealed him, for the most part. He had to follow at a decent distance though, and keep himself mostly hidden. He knew if they saw him they would run, and he'd likely lose track of them. Or it would turn into a fight, which wasn't the ideal.

And of course now, while he was on his preys' heels, did he run into a complication: he needed food. The backpack he had gotten from the Bloodbath only had a few protein bars in it, as far as nourishment went. He also needed water, but he knew that that was what Soren and Ranine were looking for. Eventually, if they found it, he'd find it. Food, however, was a more pressing issue.

There were mushrooms all over the place, and he had worked at the edible plants station enough to know, basically, which were safe to eat. He had also seen lizards crawling around. It seemed the further they got from the cornucopia, the more abundant the little creatures were. They probably didn't have much meat on them, but it beat testing his luck with the mushrooms.

So now he had a choice to make: he could either go look for food and risk losing the trail, or continue following and hope the protein bar he had left would be enough until he could do the deed and move on.

Of course, the two of them didn't have much between them, if he had seen correctly. Maybe when they stopped for the night he could go off to look.

Eventually, they did stop to rest, and the gnawing ache in his stomach finally convinced him to take the chance. Surely he had an hour, at least. They tended to take long breaks, probably because Ranine couldn't go far on that prosthetic of his.

He stood there, watching as they took out their stuff and sat down, before withdrawing away and scrounging around for any sign of life besides weird roaches. He soon found a small ravine and slid down into it. There were holes all along the floor. He took out his flashlight and shined it down into the hole and nearly shouted in triumph. He reached down and snatched as many of the little things as he possibly could and held them there, wriggling in his hand as they tried to get free.

They were tiny, only about ten inches across at the biggest. But they were fat little things who must have gorged themselves on the mushrooms around here.

"Now, how to kill you," he whispered to himself. He took out his knife, struggling a little bit to make sure he didn't drop the lizards and one by one cut their little heads off. He chuckled silently to himself as their bodies continued twitching for a minute, blood coming from their stumped necks. He'd never had lizard before, but he figured the skin was probably pretty tough. He'd have to skin them before eating them. There was no way to build a fire, so he supposed he'd have to eat the things raw.

He didn't want to stay here for long though, and risk missing Ranine and Soren's exit. So, he skinned one, figuring it would be something to chew on while he followed the other two, and set the others in his backpack. He zipped it back up, picked up his club, and jogged back towards the campsite. As he neared it he dropped into a crouch, looking around for any sign of them.

This was the place, right? Then _why_ weren't they there? Where had they gone? They hadn't left already, had they?

He swore. They couldn't be far, though, and there was nothing that would lead him to believe that they wouldn't continue in the same direction they had been going in. So he took off at a brisk pace in the direction Ranie and Soren had been going all day. Hopefully he would be able to catch up to them before they got too far.

The lizard wasn't particularly great, and even less pleasant because it was raw, but it was better than nothing, he supposed.

* * *

 **Denver Teikell**

 **Morning**

Denver wished, more than anything, that there were more places that he could just sit down and rest without having to worry about someone coming across him. He wanted to be able to sit down and shut his eyes. He hadn't actually slept the past two nights, not really. He hadn't found anywhere that would conceal him enough that he felt safe to pass out. Everything was all pretty much flat. He didn't know how far around this Arena was, nor where all the other Tributes had gone off to. So, he didn't know how safe his immediate area was at any given time.

But he had been walking for a while, probably longer than anyone else. The Arena couldn't be that big, right?

He tried to think back to his days in school where they would run and walk a mile, and how long it would take him to walk it. He figured it was probably like... fifteen minutes to a half an hour, depending on how fast he was walking. And he had been walking for almost three days straight. He was too tired to do such complicated math.

That's right. He really _was_ tired. As if his body was suddenly reminded, he stumbled and fell forward, scraping his hands on the ground. He groaned and curled up. It was all he could do not to just fall asleep.

Instead, he stood up and looked around. He was trying to think about how likely it was, mathematically, for another Tribute to be anywhere nearby. There wasn't much of a chance, was there? So, he decided to find the best hiding place he could, and fall asleep under it. He found a clump of large mushrooms which had enough room in between their bases that a person could probably curl up inside and be relatively concealed. He took the jacket he had grabbed on the first day from around his waist and put it on, hoping it would make him blend into the dark rock, before curling up in a ball and shutting his eyes.

Denver woke up later. He didn't know how long, exactly. It was hard to know what time it was in an underground arena. About the only thing that gave them any kind of time signature from the outside world was the anthem every night. As far as he knew, it hadn't come up yet, so it had to be some time before nightfall. He stood up carefully and peeked out of his hiding place. His eyes strained to see anything in the darkness, looking for any movement out there, listening for any sound of people in the vicinity.

Deciding that it was clear, he emerged, ready to take off running if he turned out to be wrong. After a moment of silence though, he relaxed and started in the direction he had been going before.

His stomach was rumbling incessantly. There had to be food around here somewhere. He had already eaten half of his bread, despite his better judgement, and he had been in a lot of pain earlier because he hadn't eaten anything but carbs in three days.

It seemed like the most abundant choice was mushrooms. Obviously that was what the Gamemakers wanted them to eat. He tried to bring up images from the edible plants station. He discarded everything that wasn't mushrooms. He remembered that the best, most friendly mushroom was what the instructor had called a "puff ball." She had said they were huge, white, and round. He didn't know if there were any of those in this Arena, but he figured he should pick those if he found any.

He didn't know how long he looked around for a patch of mushrooms he recognized, but eventually he found a group growing underneath a boulder. They were yellow, and faded into a white along the rim of the cap. He bent down to look at them, cocking his head.

He tried to remember if he had seen these while he had been working at the edible plants station. He didn't think he had seen them, but they also didn't resemble any of the poisonous ones he had seen.

Of course, the station didn't necessarily include all types of mushrooms, including the ones the Gamemakers created especially for the Games. But hey, how bad could it be? The worst that would happen was that he would die — which, while shitty, wasn't necessarily any better or worse of an outcome than getting killed by one of the others, and was certainly better than dying of starvation.

He reached out and grabbed a few. He looked around for others and grabbed as many as he could carry.

Then, he stuffed a few into his mouth. The texture was all wrong, he didn't really like it. The only mushrooms he had ever had in his life had always been in soups and stews, and they always seemed to be slimy; eating a raw mushroom felt like biting into a down pillow mixed with rubber.

He stood, heart beating wildly in his chest for a moment, waiting for a shoot of pain to tell him that he had made the wrong choice, waiting to drop dead.

But it didn't happen. At least, he didn't feel any pain.

Instead, he felt kind of... weightless. Like if he stopped focusing on staying on the ground, he would just start floating until he hit the ceiling of this cavern. The colors started getting brighter and more saturated; with a sinking feeling, Denver realized that he might have just eaten a hallucinogenic mushroom.

"Fuck," he said. His voice had come out all warbled, and he wasn't even sure that he had said it himself at all.

He was still lucid enough to know that he couldn't be tripping like this while he was out in the open; he needed to find some place where he could sit down and ride out this high.

He dropped the mushrooms to the ground as if they might bite him. He would rather die than eat another one.

Then, he looked around in the cavern which was now far too bright, trying to find a place that would conceal him so he wasn't just stumbling around like an idiot.

The mushrooms started growing and warping; Denver felt as if his feet had grown three sizes bigger. He stumbled around, squinting in the sudden brightness of the glowing mushrooms. "I need… somewhere to lay down," he whispered. His voice sounded like it was going through sap. His muscles felt like they were melting.

He saw — or he thought he saw — an overhang not far away and he went toward it.

He suddenly found himself on all fours, and he crawled towards the outcropping.

He looked down and shouted in fear as he saw the earth crumbling before him, bits of rock and dirt crawling up his arms, slowly incasing his body. He tried to struggle, fought to stand, but it felt as though his limbs wouldn't respond. He heard screaming, and he figured it was probably from his own mouth.

Then, everything went dark.

* * *

 **Imperial Baines**

 **Afternoon**

"Peri, what are you doing?"

They cracked their eyes open and saw Keiynan standing above them.

"I'm relaxing, what does it look like?"

"It _looks_ like you're trying to disappear into the ground. Or trying to metamorphose into a starfish."

They laughed and sat up. "I probably wouldn't mind being a starfish," they said thoughtfully.

"I'm sure you wouldn't."

"What are _you_ doing, Keiynan?"

He shrugged and glanced around the clearing. It had been relatively quiet that day, and everyone was exhausted from hunting for the first forty-eight hours of the Games. Keiynan had allowed them all a day of rest, figuring the Tributes who were left were probably long gone from the cornucopia by now. At some point, maybe they would go further off, leaving their supplies behind for a day or two at a time with a few people behind to watch them. He had said something about going out that night, when everyone would likely be turning in for the night, but as it was, they were recuperating, trying to keep their energy up.

"I'm just… keeping myself busy I guess."

There was something different about him, Peri could see it. Something behind his eyes, swimming behind that impenetrable mask he always seemed to be wearing. Maybe it was because they were getting to know him, or because that facade was crumbling, but Peri found it easier and easier to tell what he was thinking.

"You wanna talk?"

He looked down at them, taken aback, and watched as they stood up. "About?" he asked.

They shrugged. "You look like you need someone to talk to. Or like something's on your mind."

He chuckled dryly and looked away. "Don't we all have something on our minds?" he asked. "I mean, we are kind of in the Hunger Games."

"I guess so. But you've been training for this for ages, what do you have to worry about?"

Keiynan rolled his eyes and went towards the cornucopia. "Um, everything? Just because we were trained for this doesn't mean nothing's going to go wrong. I mean, look at Dazzle. She trained for ages, she was the chosen Tribute, and she died in the Bloodbath. Being Careers doesn't make us a shoe-in."

Peri elbowed him gently. "You worry too much. You need something to take your mind off everything."

"Yeah? What exactly can I do to take my mind off the fact that I could die any day?"

They shrugged. "Cuddling always makes me feel better."

Peri kicked themself. Was that weird? Did that make it seem like they were implying that they wanted to cuddle with him?

They _did_ , but they weren't going to suggest it like that. Keiynan would think they were the weirdest person on the planet.

"Yeah?" he replied, looking over with raised eyebrows.  
Peri felt heat rising in their cheeks. Great, they fucking ruined everything that had been building; the rapor, the ease, what might be considered _friendship_.

Keiynan sat down, getting comfortable in a pile of sleeping bags that more or less substituted for a chair before opening an arm and looking up at them expectantly.

They blinked.

"What? I wanna find out if it'll make me feel better, and you seem to be the only one around here who doesn't think I want to kill them."

Peri laughed nervously, trying to keep their soul from ejecting out of their body. They dropped into the cushy pile and let Keiynan wrap an arm around them, though they didn't lean close. No matter how much they wanted to, they weren't going to push it that far.

Keiynan leaned his head back and shut his eyes. Peri watched him. They felt awkward, but not in a way that made them want to _stop_. Just in that way where one didn't know exactly what was okay and what wasn't — so it was hard to feel at ease.

After a few minutes of silence, though, Keiynan tugged them gently towards him and they leaned against him. It was wild, how well they seemed to fit together. The warmth radiating off of him, reflected by their sleeping-bag pile, eventually made Peri want to fall asleep.

Without realizing, they did just that.

They didn't know how much time had passed before they woke up again, but they did know that it was movement from the mouth of the cornucopia. Peri's eyes fluttered open and they saw that it was Sammy. He looked surprised to find them curled up like this — Peri had only just noticed themself just how tangled up they were — and more than a little embarrassed.

"Oh, hey Sammy," they said, sitting up. They were a little too warm, but they had woken up at that point where all they wanted to do was curl right back up and go back to sleep. It felt _nice_ to have someone to sleep with. They'd never had that before, and while it was weird and uncomfortable and bodies were too complicated to fit together perfectly, it was comforting as well, at a time when they needed it most.

"I'm just looking for the gas stove," he said, ducking his head and moving around in the dark. "Don't mind me."

It was at this point that Keiynan stirred. He opened his eyes and seemed to realize that his other arm had been wrapped around Peri and he quickly jerked it away. "Sorry," he said.

He heard Sammy moving in the background and craned his neck.

"Don't worry about it," Peri replied, leaning their head into the crook of his shoulder and shutting his eyes. "I kind of like it."

They glanced up and saw a smile on Keiynan's face. Those were so rare, but more and more he was smiling, and it always seemed to be directed at _them_. It was exciting.

He wrapped his other arm back around them, shutting his eyes. "In that case I'll keep it there," he said quietly. His voice vibrated deep in his throat, and Peri could hear it alongside his heartbeat from where they were laying.

Sammy found the stove soon and left again, and Peri fell back into a light, musty sleep.

* * *

 **Cedar Wayne**

 **Night**

Cedar sat across from Rose, bent over a sliver of jerky while Rose struggled with her woodless fire kit, trying to set it on fire. He watched her. Her brow was creased as she drew out a match and started trying to strike it. It was a small bowl of what Cedar assumed was alcohol, and it had come with a packet of matches. He had seen similar setups before back home.

The match lit and she dropped it into the bowl. Immediately it lit up and she let out a whoop of excitement. Cedar grinned.

"Good job," he said.

"Thanks," she replied, her signing awkward while she clutched the packet of matches between her fingers.

He pointed at the alcohol stove and signed "Why?"

He handed her the charcoal pencil he had taken into the Arena with him and she wrote on the ground "Just seeing if it works."

Communicating with his allies was hard, since they didn't have a piece of paper to write on anymore, and he could only bring in one item, but they got along fine. He had taught Rose the manual alphabet and a little bit of the other signs, so together they had managed to talk alright. Cedar was just glad he had Rose with him, as well as the others in their alliance.

She watched the fire burn for a moment before leaning down and blowing it out. She smiled and covered the bowl with the top and gently placed it back into her backpack along with the matches.

He looked around their makeshift campsite. The others were off doing their own jobs. Ayana and Ida were making an inventory of their supplies, while Viola worked at developing a trap to get at some of the lizards they had seen crawling around.

He looked around, at the huge Arena and the endless darkness above them, before back down at Rose.

Their alliance wasn't as big as it had been before the Games started; they had lost Marley in the bloodbath, and had seen Clio's face up in the sky the night before. She had gotten separated from them during the chaos while they escaped the Cornucopia. The Careers must have found her, or something. Or one of the other Tributes, he supposed, but he tried his best not to think of them when it came to who was doing the murdering. The Career Pack was far enough away in his mind that they didn't even register as people anymore; instead they were predators. Rose had killed someone during the Bloodbath, but he hadn't seen it and he tried his best to ignore that fact. It wasn't necessarily that he thought none of them should kill anyone - quite the opposite, in fact. It was just difficult to imagine Rosewood, who he had begun to view as a friend, do something so vicious, even if it was for her own survival. He had known her for long enough to sense the deep anger and hatred in her, likely directed towards the Capitol for some crime which she wouldn't share with him. Still, it was hard, seeing that come out of her.

Rose's head perked up, and she was looking for something over Cedar's shoulder. He turned, craning his neck and peering into the darkness.

The others seemed to have heard something too, and immediately cold fear ran down his spine.

Then, out of the darkness and from behind hiding places sprung the Careers. The others' mouths opened in what could only be terrified cries, and Rose yanked him up. He took off after her, clinging desperately to her hand so they wouldn't get separated. He didn't dare glance back to see if their allies were following. All he could think of was to follow Rose and get away as fast as possible.

One of the Careers stepped out in front of them and Rose came to a stop. It looked like he was the boy from District Four. Rose pulled her knife out and lunged at him, her face contorted into one of animalistic anger. Mica held up his spear and she dodged around it, stabbing him deep into his side. Cedar's eyes went wide and he took off past him as he fell. Rose put her knife back into her belt and grabbed his hand. Cedar tried to ignore the stickiness from the blood on it. Now he risked a glance behind them. The others were following; one of the Careers was knelt next to District Four, but the others were coming after them fast.

Rose shouted something at the others, and started yanking him sharply to the right. He realized what the garbled syllables had meant: _dodge_.

Just in time, too, because a moment later a knife flew past his face, embedding itself into a mushroom in front of him. He remembered watching Imperial Baines in training; they could throw knives with deadly accuracy. If they were caught in their sights, they were almost certain to die.

Cedar didn't know how long they ran, but eventually Rose looked back and let out a relieved breath. She slowed down slightly and spoke to the others. He concentrated on her lips, trying to figure out what she was saying, but he didn't catch it. He had never been really good at reading lips.

They kept walking, not stopping save to catch their breath for a few minutes. Cedar looked all around them, and was relieved to find no sign of them. Rose's knife-work must have done wonders, distracting the other Careers so they could tend to their wounded ally.

Rose let go of his hand and said "You okay?"

He nodded. After all, he had gotten away unscathed; the only thing he could complain about was being sore and out of breath. He motioned to the others and asked if they were okay. She nodded. He looked at them; it didn't look like any of them had gotten seriously hurt, but Ayana had been nicked with an arrow from Vernazza, and Viola had fallen and scraped jeir knee up pretty bad. Cedar was just relieved they had all gotten out of there alive. He wanted nothing more than to collapse and fall asleep, but he knew they shouldn't stay anywhere near the area with the Careers. Maybe if they had all had weapons, they would have been able to take them on, but as it was, Rose was the only one.

He just hoped they weren't following them. He would imagine, with as many of them as there were, they would be pretty loud and easy to track. He prayed that they wouldn't be attacked again.

* * *

 **A/N: So… I know late, but I've been deeling with the lathargic kind of depression lately so it's been really hard to get any writing done. Dunno how reliable I'll be as far as updating will be, but I'm trying to get back into the habit. Thanks for sticking around and being patient. I don't intend on abandoning this SYOT, since I'm really excited for where I'm going with it.**

 **Okay, so I'm not gonna do CQ for this chapter bc I'm lazey but!**

 **Let me know what you thought! As always, I'll see y'all next time!**


	37. Little Words: Games Day Four

**Ranine Montero**

 **Morning**

Ranine and Soren had been walking basically non-stop. They had found a few meager streams, which had allowed them to replenish their water flask. They had both considered stopping and making a somewhat permanent residence, since it allowed easy access to water, but they hadn't been able to find a place that was concealed enough for their tastes, and both of them agreed that they shouldn't settle down in any specific location. The longer they stayed in one place, they reasoned, the more likely they were to be discovered by the others.

They didn't tarry from their direction much, since they wanted to be able to get back to the water if they needed to. As far as they could tell, they were going in a relatively straight line perpendicular to the mouth and tail of the cornucopia. They didn't have any way of knowing what direction the center of the Arena was, so they needed to do their best not to confuse themselves.

Their biggest concern right then, really, was food. Sure, not having any weapons was a problem, but a single package of crackers was hardly anything to share between two people. Already they were both weak and hungry. They were used to it, of course; most people who lived in the outer Districts were used to going without more often than not. But this wasn't a situation where they could really afford the effects of starvation. What little weight Ranine had gained during his stint in the Capitol was already evaporating fast, leaving the skinny young man that had left District Eight what seemed like lifetimes ago. Sooner or later, they would both be so weak that anyone could come along and pick them off.

He had been thinking about this off and on since the night before, when they had gotten down to their last few crackers.

"Any ideas as to where we'll be able to find food?" he asked, glancing over at his ally.

Soren looked around, as if a huge, glorious feast might spring out of the ground at any moment to save them. "I'm not sure," he said. "We've seen those little lizards, and things like that, but they seem pretty hard to catch. I haven't seen any plants, or any other small animals. No fish, at least not in the bodies of water we've found."

"So mushrooms might be our only source of food," Ranine said, verbalizing what they both must have been thinking.

"Good thing we spent so much time at the edible plants station, huh?" Soren said, a mirthless smile on his face.

"Yeah, we'll agonize over whether or not we're eating ourselves to death."

They walked in silence for a minute. "I mean... the Gamemakers are smart. Chances are, most of these mushrooms are safe. They probably weren't counting on all the Tributes spending a lot of time at the station — certainly not enough time to give them a good understanding of how to identify poisonous mushrooms."

"And I'm sure a lot of the others who _did_ go to the station decided to ignore mushrooms, figuring they would just avoid them altogether, since they're so dangerous and plants and berries are easier."

Soren nodded. "So either there's a missing food source in this Arena that we haven't found, or most of the mushrooms are safe." He kicked a rock, sending it rattling in front of them before bouncing off a boulder. "I'm not saying we should just eat the first mushroom we find — but I think, chances are, we're more likely to get an edible mushroom than not."

"I don't know if I'm willing to bet my life on chance," Ranine said. "At least — any more than I already am."

"My thinking is, we're guaranteed to die of hunger, if one of the other Tributes don't get us first. At least with the mushrooms, if we can make an educated guess, we've got a chance."

"I guess you're right."

Like a sign from God, they came across the biggest patch of mushrooms they had seen. The patch was in an amorphous circle and was filled with brown mushrooms with shriveled tops. They looked like brown brains sitting on top of white tubes.

"Huh. Weird," Ranine said as they came to a stop in front of the patch. "You think these are edible?"

Soren crouched, examining them. "They sure look familiar."

"Lots of mushrooms look familiar. We saw probably fifty different species at that station, not to mention all the ones we've seen in here."

"I know, but I'm trying to remember what they were called."

Ranine stared at them, searching through his memories, looking for a name to put to the face.

"Morels!" Soren said suddenly, standing up. "They're morels. These are edible!"

Soren bent to pick one, but Ranine suddenly stepped forward and grabbed his shoulder. "Wait!"

He didn't know why he was so panicked — mushrooms wouldn't hurt them just by touching them. Soren jumped back anyway, as if the fungus might bite him.

"What, what?" he demanded.

"Those aren't morels," Ranine said. "They're _false_ morels."

Soren, remembering the name, looked at the mushrooms closely. "Oh shit, you're right," he said. "I'm glad you realized that, otherwise we'd both be dead."

He nodded in agreement. " _Super_ dead."

He sighed and stood back up, readjusting his sweatshirt. "Guess we better be moving on."

Ranine nodded, though he didn't want to leave the mushrooms behind. They needed all the resources they could get, and these things might be their only opportunity. He bent and grabbed a handful.

"What are you doing?" Soren asked. "Those are poisonous!"

"I know," he replied. "That's what I want them for."

After a moment, realization dawned on his face. "Oh," he said, nodding. "I see. Good idea."

He smiled emptily. "Right. Let's go."

* * *

 **Samuel Cookson**

 **Morning**

Sammy was looking through some of their supplies, trying to find pain pills. He was starting to get a headache, and he wanted to head it off before it got really bad. He found them and was reading the back of the label while he left out the mouth of the cornucopia. He bumped into Vernazza, though, by accident.

"Sorry," he said.

"Watch where the hell you're going," she snapped, looking up at him like she wanted nothing more than to shoot him through the throat with an arrow.

He felt the blood drain from his face and he put his hands up in surrender. "You're right, sorry," he said. Normally Sammy wasn't one to back up when someone was obviously looking for a fight, but he'd definitely get killed if he, the outer-District kid, tried to fight with one of the others — especially Vernazza, who seemed to be the most tightly-wound of the lot of them.

Really... there wasn't anyone he felt actually safe with in the Alliance. The best he got was tolerance, and whatever it was Peri had for him. It seemed like they wanted to be friends, but Sammy had seen supposedly sweet and earnest Careers be some of the most horrifying. He was a little wary of that energetic kid.

As he emerged back out into the clearing, Keiynan spoke up. "Alright, we're gonna head out. I think we're gonna spend two days away. Who wants to stay here for that time?"

Glancing around, Sammy raised his hand. He wasn't sure which was worse: having to go out and be a part of the pack, or staying here and being vulnerable. He supposed this way, he had the pact they had all made at the creation of this alliance to protect him.

Peri jumped up from where they were sitting. "I wanna stay," they said. Sammy wasn't sure, but he could have sworn they glanced at him. If they had, it didn't last long, because they turned their pleading gaze onto Keiynan. It seemed like the two of them were getting along, and Sammy couldn't help the little bit of jealousy.

Which he hated. Everything in him was telling him that he should hate these people, all of them, that they were killing other people, people who were in his situation, and their families in the District were going through the same exact pain that he had gone through when his brother had died. But he couldn't help it when he got impulsive thoughts about how cute Imperial was.

Everything that Keiynan had said to him the day the Training Scores came out came flooding back to him whenever he thought about that. "We all cope with this shit in different ways," his voice said. "Just because we're volunteers doesn't mean we're monsters."

Of course, if he didn't see them as monsters, he had to see them as people, and that was far more terrifying.

And if he saw them as people, then he couldn't ignore just how upset seeing Peri and Keiynan cuddled up like that had made him. He kept telling himself that he was angry because they were being stupid. Any kind of emotional attachments in the Games was stupid, and was only setting yourself up for heartbreak.

He had never seen Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mallark's Hunger Games, but they learned about them. He could never know how much of it was true and what was propaganda, but he knew that even her friendship with the little girl from District Eleven, which was apparently what started that rebellious fire, had ended in tragedy. And her romance with Peeta Mellark... how could anyone in their right mind want to recreate that? Maybe it would make the audience love them, but the President, the Gamemakers — they definitely wouldn't want a repeat of the last time.

He was brought out of his thoughts as the others gathered around Keiynan for plotting what they were going to do.

"I figure most of the day will be spent travelling, and then by the time the anthem comes on tonight, we'll be near enough some of the other Tributes that we can catch a trail. I want to be able to catch up with that other big alliance. They're really our biggest threat." He turned to Mica. "You good? Because you can stay here and Peri can come with us."

Mica had recovered pretty well from his stab wound from the girl from District Seven. It was still bandaged up, but thanks to the high-tech medicine available in the cornucopia, no complications had arisen.

Right then, his face was grim. "I'm fine," he said. "I want to get that bitch just as much as you do."

Keiynan looked doubtful, and honestly Sammy agreed. He doubted that he was healed enough to be of much use, and might end up worsening the injury, but there was no saying no to Mica.

"Okay. We leave in half an hour. Everyone get enough supplies for two days at most."

As the others left, Sammy retired to his usual place: sitting underneath the tail of the cornucopia with a ball of string in his hands. He occupied himself by trying to untangle it. He didn't know if it was possible, and sometimes it was more frustrating than relaxing, but he figured it was better than sitting there staring at the black ceiling.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but the sound of Peri's footsteps brought him out of whatever bored daze he had been in.

"Hey dude," they said. "You hungry? I was going to start cooking something."

He thought for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I could eat." He stood up and followed them back to the mouth, where a small woodless stove sat. Peri got out some apples, some jerky, and a few salamanders that had been caught over the past day or two. Despite the fact that they had ample supplies, they knew from past Games that all that could disappear in a moment, so they needed to be able to get their own food too.

Sammy sat near the stove, grateful for the warmth. While it wasn't particularly cold in the Arena, it was still colder than it was in District Nine, so he was having trouble being comfortable.

"What was Vernazza yelling at you about earlier?" they asked suddenly as they placed the skinned lizards on the stove.

Sammy looked up from his string ball. "Oh, I bumped into her."

Peri made a face, apparently confused by why she had blown up over something so small.

"I know," he agreed.

"That's weird," they said. "She's usually so level-headed. I mean, tightly wound, but level-headed, you know?"

Sammy shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so. I'm guessing she's mad because I was included in the group. I bet she wants to put a knife in my chest more than anyone else here. Which is really saying something."

Peri frowned. "What? What do you mean?"

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed. No one really wants me here. Except maybe you and Keiynan."

"Yeah, and?"

" _And_ they all want me gone, but the only thing that's keeping them from killing me in my sleep is the fact that Keiynan would probably kill them right after... maybe."

"Oh, he'd definitely do that. Keiynan's a lot of things, but he's not dishonest. If he says no infighting, he's not going to let that pass. No matter who does it. And he likes you, so you're probably protected. At least for now."

Sammy looked over at them. Their eyes were trained on the lizards, carefully flipping them so they wouldn't burn. "You know, that makes me feel better."

They smiled. "Good, I'm glad."

* * *

 **Riva Lamelle**

 **Afternoon**

Her heart was pounding faster than her feet, and every breath she took was a labor. She had been a fighter for years, and part of learning to fight — and being as good as she was — was endurance and cardio training. She had been up at the crack of dawn more times than she could count running along the shoreline. Still, though, none of that could have prepared her for hunting with the Careers. Keiynan pushed them hard and long. They rarely stopped for breaks, and when they did, it was only for a few minutes at a time. She knew they had to move fast if they wanted to catch up to any of the others, but she couldn't help but envy Sammy and Peri back at camp.

Keiynan at the head of their pack held up a hand, and one by one they all slowed to a stop. "Let's take a meal break," he said, swinging his backpack from around his shoulders and sitting down. Riva took her own bag off and trotted a few feet away before collapsing.

Mica came over and — with much difficulty — took a seat beside her.

"You doing okay?" she asked, looking at his side but seeing no blood.

"I'm fine," he said, digging into his bag for something to eat.

She did the same, deciding that she wouldn't prod him any more about it.

Riva glanced around at the other Careers thoughtfully. She had never been particularly fond of hanging around them, but she knew they were her best shot to get out alive and give Destan the life he deserved.

The past year or so had been the hardest of their lives, which was really saying something, given how shitty everything had been up to that point. It was bad enough after Destan was born and their mother died in childbirth; that meant their father had to work twice as hard and they never got to see him. It also meant that Riva was largely robbed of her childhood in a desperate attempt to take care of her brother and support the family in any way possible. She didn't blame her father for that, of course, but sometimes she wished she could have had those years of blissful ignorance. But then the checks from their father stopped coming and she had to devote every minute of her time to trying to put food on the table, and it had made her sick to see Destan's cheeks get hollower and hollower. No matter how many fights she took, no matter how long she worked at the docks, no matter what Jorah did to help, no matter how much tesserae she took out, it was never enough and she couldn't stand it. Destan was growing up fast and he needed more than she could hope to provide. Of course, that was what landed her there in the Arena, that was what kept her going even as she was forced to accept the fact that she likely had to kill people at some point, and was also likely to die in her last ditch effort to make sure Destan would, for once in his life, have enough to eat, that they would have enough money for her to buy him a present on his birthday; if she got out of this victorious, they would have more than enough for the rest of her life.

She stared into the distance as she thought about Destan's sweet little face, inches from the TV as he cheered her on. She could practically hear Jorah in the background mumbling "Come on, Baracuda," as if that would keep someone from killing her if given the opportunity.

It didn't matter whether their little words in her little house actually _did_ anything. That was her family, and thinking about them at all made everything else unimportant. So long as she got back to them, she would do whatever it took.

She looked at the Careers again. She thought about their dynamic, how well they all worked together. She had certainly seen more poorly put-together Career groups in her time. But this, like all Alliances, was bound to dissolve at one point or another. And no matter how much Keiynan insisted, she didn't see it being a calm, peaceful ordeal. Sooner or later, someone was going to snap and then everything would come crashing down.

She wondered if it would be better to make a break for it before that happened. She wondered if she asked Mica, if he would go with her. They were District Partners, after all. If she didn't win, at least if he did things would be easier for Destan.

She considered taking him, grabbing as many supplies as they could carry, and scurrying off into the night while everyone else was sleeping. They'd be able to do it, she was sure, and if they went fast and far enough, they wouldn't be able to track them.

It was a viable plan, and for a long time she considered it, and had almost decided that that was what she was going to do once they got back to the Cornucopia, but then decided against it. The Alliance was stable, and she needed to ride that for as long as possible. Once things got shaky she would bolt. But maybe she should bring it up to Mica before that happened.

Mica finally seemed to notice that she hadn't eaten and was just kind of staring off into the distance. "You okay?" he asked after a long moment.

She snapped out of it and looked up with him. "Huh? Yeah, I'm fine," she said. "Just, you know. Thinking."

"I try not to do that too much," he replied.

She smiled. "I understand that."

They fell silent then, but Riva didn't want it to be quiet. She wanted to talk, wanted to have something that would keep them both out of their brains.

"So," she said. "What do you think?"

"About what?"

"You know. Everything. The Games, our allies, our lives currently."

He chuckled dryly and shrugged. "Dunno. It sucks, I guess."

"You volunteered for this, didn't you?"

"Yeah, of course, but that doesn't mean I really _want_ to be here. You don't want to be here, right?"

She nodded. "I guess that's true. Maybe I need to re-examine some of my biases about you guys."

"'Us guys?'"

"The Careers."

"Aren't you a Career?"

She waved her hand. "Yeah but, you know what I mean."

"The ones who trained specifically for this?"

"Yeah."

"You know, there's a lot more to us than a lot of people think. Not all of us are here because we want to die for glory or whatever. A lot of us are in the same position as you, especially in Four. Some of us are poor, with starving families. Sometimes, the Academy is our only shot. And even if we die, that's one less mouth to feed, right?"

"That's kind of a cynical way to think about it. I don't think your family views it that way."

"Of course they don't. It's horrible, but it's true."

She sighed. "It shouldn't be that way," she said. She knew that was dangerous, and judging by the way Mica looked at her, he knew that too, and was surprised by her guts. "I just wish there was another way," she added, hoping that was enough of a cover-up. She had to be careful with her words here. The Gamemakers weren't likely to broadcast anything rebellious; censorship was really staunch, but if they heard, or the president heard — which they would — it would mean trouble for her, and possibly her allies and her family back home in Four too. She sighed and started eating, too upset now to want to make an effort into conversation.

* * *

 **Mirabel Holtz**

 **Night**

Mira's feet were bleeding, she was sure, but she was afraid of what she would find if she stopped long enough to take a look. She was constantly caught between her fear of what lay behind her, and a fear of what lay ahead. She figured that at worst, it was the edge of the Arena. She'd never really seen anything about the edges of the Arena. There had been complications one year about twenty years ago where a boy tried to kill himself with the electric shock and just ended up paralyzing himself and choking to death on his own tongue. Her dad had told her about it, and since then they hadn't really shown much when Tributes found the edges. Most of the time the Arenas were too big, anyway, and Tributes didn't really like wandering around until they found an invisible death wall.

She could only hope that she wasn't about to run right into said death wall.

She periodically tossed stones and mushrooms in front of her to make sure that the way ahead of her was clear. She didn't know how big the Arena was, after all, since their sizes varied a lot. It always depending on what kind of show the Gamemakers wanted to put on that year. One time, there had been an Arena that wasn't more than a mile across. It was a very close competition, with kids dying almost every night because no one could avoid each other. Other times, the Arenas were over ten miles across, and odd shapes; lots of the time the shape could change in order to herd Tributes towards the center.

She heard something in the silence, something that was almost too quiet to hear: a quiet little _bumpf_ above her head. She looked up, and saw movement above her. She instantly backed away, fearing the worst.

After a moment, though, it came into focus: it was a parachute, with a large box attached to the bottom. A sponsor gift!

A big, idiotic grin broke across her face. She ran forward, holding her hands out to catch it. She wondered who it was from. surely not her family, they could never afford something like this. She must have caught someone's attention in the Capitol.

Whoever it was, she couldn't contain gratefulness as she caught the parachute.

"Thank you," she said, looking up into the darkness and hoping the cameras would broadcast her thanks to whoever had sent this to her.

She knelt down and opened the box, giving out a squeal. Inside was a canvas bag and a long blade in a sheath — it must be a machete.

She took out the bag and pulled the drawstring to open it. She pulled out a small loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, and two apples. This was enough food to last her for a week, if she tried. She laughed with joy and immediately scarfed down one of the apples. She had barely eaten in these four days, and she couldn't really help herself.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you."

She put the food bag into her backpack and secured the machete sheath at her hip before standing up and resuming her walk.

Out in front of her, dimly illuminated by the surrounding mushrooms, she saw a great chasm opening in the floor. She went towards it and tossed a rock towards its edge. It bounced harmlessly into the darkness, and she didn't hear it hit the floor.

She looked to either side, searching for a way around, a place where the chasm ended. It stretched, seemingly endlessly, into the dark horizon. She wondered if _this_ was the edge of the Arena.

Getting on all fours — she was afraid of accidentally tripping or something — she knelt at the edge, looking down into it.

Then, she looked around for a glowing mushroom that she could drop into the hole. She wanted to know just how deep it went. She had climbing gear in her backpack — maybe she could climb down there and use it as a base. She didn't know how many of the other Tributes had gotten climbing gear, so she figured she'd be safer there than anywhere else.

She grabbed a small handfull of moderately sized glowing mushrooms and one by one dropped them down into the darkness. They seemed to fall until they were out of sight.

She looked over at her backpack, considering climbing down anyway, though she didn't know what she would find. If there wasn't a bottom — or at least, the bottom was really far down — then there wasn't likely to be a ledge that she could hide on.

Her shoulders slumped. Mira would have been glad for a place to rest, a safe place to wait these Games out. She sighed and started to stand back up, but stopped as she heard something. She looked around, fear making her heart drop to her toes. She didn't see any movement around her, but that didn't necessarily mean she was safe. She looked down into the chasm, thinking that it was possible that the sound came from down there. And if it had... then she might have made a very, very bad mistake.

Deciding she didn't want to stick around to find out, she picked up her backpack and started jogging back the way she had come; she figured she would get a decent distance away, and then would follow the fissure from there to see if it ended or if it marked the edge of the Arena.

She kept hearing rustling noises; they were quiet, almost imperceptible. She couldn't tell exactly where they were coming from — this cavern was so echoey all the sounds just got bounced around and it was impossible to place their origins. She got the feeling that it was coming from the chasm, though.

She kept glancing out of the corner of her eye at that great black scar, waiting for something to emerge from it, or something to happen. It was making her nervous, but she hoped that if she stayed far enough away she wouldn't have to worry about it.

Then, she saw something. A flicker of movement that she barely caught. For a moment, she doubted whether or not she had seen it at stopped, looking over.

Then, slowly, a shiny head poked up over the cliff and swung around. A black, beady eye watched her and she felt her whole body go numb. She tried to move, tried to run, but she felt like she was paralyzed, frozen in the sights of this creature. It was huge; its head was bigger than her whole body.

It slowly climbed over the ridge of the crevice and approached her. Its body was long and orange, a thin tail flicking behind it.

Mira screamed in fear as it opened its mouth and long tongues of fire emerged. She turned and took off running. She heard in the pounding behind her — over the pounding of her own heart — that it was pursuing her quickly. She didn't dare look back though; if she was going to die, she didn't want to see it coming. She kept her eyes forward, searching for a way out, for somewhere to hide where the lizard wouldn't be able to follow.

She felt heat lick her heels and she screeched again. A fresh burst of adrenaline sent her into a frenzy and she drove forward even faster, desperate to save herself, to outrun this creature even though logically she knew she had no chance.

Then, she was one the ground. Something heavy was on her back. She started sobbing and struggling, struggling for her life. It was burning hot and there were sharp claws digging into her back.

She knew death was coming and all she could do was scream and cry, as if that would somehow convince the mutt to leave her alive. She just wanted to be home.

* * *

 **Patroclus Montague**

 **Night**

"Has anyone got an update on the Gamemakers?" Patroclus demanded as she burst into the production booth. "I've been looking all over for them and I'm supposed to be on in five minutes!"

"We've got one on the phone now, Ms. Montague," her set manager said, one hand on the receiver. "They'll be here in two minutes."

"Finally," she said, hugging. She turned back to the makeup artist who was hurriedly dabbing on a few more strokes of makeup. "Sometimes I swear those Gamemakers have no respect for anyone else's time," she mumbled.

When it came time, she mounted the stage to the roaring of the crowd. It was always invigorating, hearing how much they loved her.

"Good evening, Panem!" she exclaimed, her microphoned voice resounding over the streets but still being drowned out.

She was considering getting surgery to implant a microphone system in her vocal chords so she could project her voice naturally by herself, but she figured she would have to wait until after the Games, since it would be a while to recover from the surgery.

For the most part, the day had been quiet. She needed something to excite everyone after it.

"I have a special treat for you all tonight!" she said once the crowd had settled down somewhat. "We've managed to pull a few members of the Gamemaking team out of their busy work for an interview!"

The crowd went wild again and she drank it in. "But first, let's have a review of today's games!"

She took her usual seat and watched as the cameras followed the Tributes. Of course, there was the near-altercation in the Career pack, but that was quickly smoothed over. The other Tributes were much the same as they had been the day before; everyone was searching for water. A few lucky ones had found the underground streams that were sprinkled around the Arena. A few others had found areas that were more teaming with life and so were eating well. Others had managed to find well-secured places they could hide out for the duration of the Games. And then, of course, there had been the death.

The crowd let out lamenting, sympathetic sighs as they watched the muttation burn poor Mirabel to death.

"What a way to go," Patroclus said sadly as the screen shifted to show the standings. It changed Mira's status to DEAD.

"Now," she said, standing up and clasping her hands together as the screen darkened. "I'm so excited to introduce Laurentia Moonglove and Reynaldo Verelo-Rosales!"

The crowd screamed as the two Gamemakers mounted the stage and bowed. Both looked exhausted, and were covered with makeup to hide the dark bags under their eyes. She knew they were overworked, as the Gamemakers usually were. She was too, honestly; the Games were an exciting and busy time for everyone involved, and since this was a Quell, there was a lot more pressure and gravitas surrounding it than usual.

She waved them over to sit at the loveseat that had been brought on, and returned to her own chair. She crossed her legs.

"Good evening," she said with a wide smile.

The two nodded in greeting.

"First, I'd like to open with just how _impressed_ I am with the Games this year. This Arena is so interesting. It presents a large variety of challenges, both behind-the-scenes and for the competitors. Who came up with the idea?"

"It was Aeneus," Laurentia said quietly with a small, mournful smile.

Sounds of sympathy erupted in the crowd.

Patroclus nodded and patted her hand. "They were a creative genius, the likes of which I don't know if we'll ever see again."

"We certainly miss them."

She hadn't intended for the tone to get so drab so quickly, but it was difficult to avoid, with Aeneus' murder still so fresh. She had been specifically directed to keep the public's thoughts _away_ from the investigation.

Luckily, she was an _expert_ at dodging around subjects.

"Tell me about those mutts we saw earlier attack Mirabel Holtz. What exactly are they?"

Reynaldo sat up straight. He was the head of mutt design, so this had been his project. "The base creature we took from was a salamander. We don't get many of them here, but they're called the red eft. Of course, they don't get that large naturally."

"And I would imagine they don't breathe fire!"

The audience laughed and she got a polite chuckle out of the two Gamemakers.

"No, certainly not. The fire-breath was inspired by ancient fantasy myths from our ancestors. They believed in large lizards which could spout fire from their mouths and fly. They called them dragons."

"Oh, how fascinating! I always love it when the Gamemakers take inspiration from ancient history!"

"As for their placement, well... without giving too much away, their purpose is to herd the Tributes away from the edges of the Arena. We figured it would be more effective and entertaining than the standard electrified forcefield."

"Oh I'm certain." Patroclus waved her hand. "Could we get an Arena map, please?"

Behind them on the screen, a map appeared, along with several colored dots showing the Tributes' positions.

"Who can we see who's close to the boundaries?" A few dots shifted to show Tribute profiles. "Denver of District Nine seems rather close, though he's still in the clear, it seems. It appears that most of the other Tributes are remaining withing a central space. I would imagine they don't want to get too far away from the Cornucopia, in case there's a reason to go back there."

"Many of them have found shelter or other supplies that they're reluctant to leave behind as well," Laurentia pointed out. "We wanted to make this Arena large enough to give the Tributes space to spread out, since we didn't know how many alliances there would be nor how large those groups would be, while still making the Cornucopia reachable."

Patroclus nodded. "Wonderfully clever. Can we hope to see some interesting mechanics being implemented as we get further into the Games?"

"Oh absolutely. We have a few tricks hidden up our sleeves in case the Tributes themselves are having trouble."

"I just have one more question for the two of you," she said. She leaned in secretively, as if their responses wouldn't be broadcast to the whole country. "Who do you think will win?"

The Gamemakes both laughed.

"Well," Laurentia said, "I'm rooting for Baia Kell, as I was in her first Games. I think she has a real chance."

"And you, Reynaldo?"

He smiled, fluorescent teeth showing behind black-painted lips. "I try to keep my predictions to myself," he said.

With that, she stood and waved her hand. "I wouldn't want to keep the two of you from your work any longer. Thank you both _so_ much for taking time out of your busy schedules to indulge us all. I wish you both the best of luck, and send my love to the other Gamemakers."

"We certainly will," Laurentia said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

The crowd roared as the two left the stage.

"Tune in tomorrow for more updates and commentary. Until then, Panem, good night!" She threw her hand up, bowed, and then left off the stage.

* * *

 **A/N: yeehaw I'm very late i know. It's been tough since my current hyperfixation is uhh envelopping my whole life. Woohoo. I'm planning to do campnano in July though so hopefully I'll be able to get back in the groove.**

 **Also I want to apologize for killing Mira just after giving her supplies lol. I have the Games pre-organized though so there wasn't much I could do about it.**

 **Anyway, let me know what you thought! Thank you so much for sticking with me!**


	38. Living with Yourself: Games Day Five

**Ranine Montero**

 **Morning**

The temperature was slowly but surely getting colder.

It might have been so subtle as to be imperceptible, if it weren't for the fact that Ranine's stump didn't get sore whenever the temperature dropped below sixty-two degrees.

He woke up on their fifth day in the Arena, some time earlier than normal, and immediately reached down, massaging the place and grimacing. Dammit. As if the phantom limb pain and the discomfort of wearing the prosthetic weren't enough. The Gamemakers must have been slowly dropping the temperature. When they first got there it was pleasant, if not warm. Warm enough that he had been sweating profusely by the time he had gotten away from the Cornucopia. But now, the cold seemed to be slowly enveloping them. He didn't realize just how cold it could get without the sun. It was just depressing, really.

Soren, who was up keeping watch, turned around when he heard him move.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, fine. It's just... it's getting colder."

He raised his eyebrows.

Ranine just motioned vaguely to his leg. "It hurts."

"Oh."

He sat up and pulled their meager supplies over to him. They were quickly running out, but had found more than enough mushrooms to get them through. Their main concern was water. They needed to find a stream or something. Hopefully soon. He didn't want to have to walk any more than they already had.

"You hungry?" Ranine asked, pulling a clump of the spongy things out, careful to look over each one again to make sure they weren't one of the easily conflated poisonous ones.

Soren nodded and took a few, chewing on them as he leaned his chin dejectedly onto his knees.

"You good?"

"Hm? Yeah. I'm fine. Just... you know. Miserable. I guess I'm still homesick."

"Miss your boyfriend?"

"And my sister, and all my friends... just home. I miss being safe. I didn't have that great of a life, but it was better than this. At least I knew I was going to live to see the morning every night when I went to bed."

Ranine stood up, wincing at the pain. He didn't take the prosthetic off when he went to bed, since if they were attacked in the night and had to flee, he would be a sitting duck if he didn't. Now it was just sore and stiff. "Come on, we'd better get moving."

Soren stood as well and walked slowly beside him, looking around with a quiet sigh.

"Tell me about your family," Ranine said after a few minutes. He couldn't stand the silence. It felt like a funeral procession, with neither of them talking and just walking along morosely. "I know you talked a little bit about them in your interview, but... you know. I'm curious. They sound great."

Soren smiled slightly and ducked his head. "Well... my sister, Tahera. We're not... actually related, but she'd beat anyone up who tried to say that. Including me. If I get back I'm gonna pay for that."

Ranine chuckled. "I didn't think you looked all that much alike," he said.

"We were friends in the orphanage. I didn't fit in, really, for whatever reason. But when she came, we clung to each other immediately. We were inseparable. We decided that we would be the family we didn't have. We didn't need anyone else, she's always said. She supported me and stood up for me. I couldn't live without her."

"She sounds great."

He laughed. It was empty, sad, and pained. "Yeah. She is."

"And your boyfriend?"

Soren sniffled, wiping at his eyes shamefully. "Tahera introduced me to him. Introduced me to all my friends, really. Baric is... well, he's great. I can't really _say_ how much I love him, you know? It's one of those things you can only feel."

Ranine thought about his brother, thought about what he could say to describe their relationship if he was ever asked. He nodded. "Yeah, I get it. How long have you two been together?"

"Two years. Well... almost. Our anniversary is in a little over a week."

"Sucks that you'll be here for that, more than likely."

"If I'm still alive." His voice cracked and Ranine stopped. A pit of guilt opened up in his stomach. Talking about their families and their lives back home was hard, and he knew it might be a little upsetting, but he had also figured that it would be helpful, and healing. And it would give them sympathy points, but he felt guilty about doing it for that reason, so he tried his best not to think about it. He hadn't meant to make Soren cry.

He reached out and put a hand cautiously on his shoulder. "It's okay. Don't think about that." Soren's eyes were full but he kept his face away, as if trying to hide it.

"Tell me about your other friends. You've got other friends, right?"

He nodded, sniffling again and wiping at his eyes with his dirty sleeve.

"Otillie and Cerwyn. Tahera introduced me to them, too."

"What are they like?"

"Cerwyn's so quiet. Quieter than me."

"I can't imagine."

Soren actually smiled at that. Thank God. "Yeah. He's almost always reading. Anything he can get his hands on. But he's always listening, too. If you ask for his input, he'll give it, even though it's usually just a nod. But if you want to vent to someone, that's who you go to. He'll put his hand on your shoulder and just nod and look into your eyes like he's seeing everything and... I dunno. It's really therapeutic."

"And Otillie?" He took a bite of mushroom.

"She's a little bit like Tahera, but less bratty. She's always shoving her nose into everything, but it's not always necessarily a bad thing. I think she just does it because she wants to help, you know?"

He nodded.

"And she's so lazy. She won't do anything for herself. Hell, if it wouldn't make everyone around her grossed out, she probably wouldn't bathe. But if you ask her to do something, or if you tell her you need anything, she'll always be there for you. She'd do _anything_ for her friends... I miss them all a lot."

"I'm sure you do."

Soren looked up at him. "What about you?"

"Me?" He took a deep breath and then blew it out through a small gap in his lips. "Not much to tell. My family's pretty standard. I've got my mom. She works a lot but only because she wants to be able to support us. My dad's the same way. My dad... I know he wants what's best for me. Mom too. They just want me to be able to be happy, but it's expensive and practically unobtainable."

"You mean transitioning?"

He nodded.

"And your brother?"

He paused as his chest puffed up. He felt like he couldn't breathe, let alone speak, at the thought of his brother. "Ikat. He's... he's so great. He's the best brother in the world. He's always so supportive of me, trying to cheer me up, keep me from getting depressed because of everything... I couldn't ask for better."

"You got any friends?"

Ranine smiled, but he knew it didn't reach his eyes. "Chiffon and Breden. Breden's such an ass... he's always making jokes about everything, but I know it's his way of handling everything. I'd rather him make fun of the misery than be hopeless, you know? So I let him joke. And Chiffon..." He trailed off, looking out into the distance, as if he might see her there. "She's a bit older than us, but she's so great. She's funny, and smart, and always knows exactly what to say."

He caught Soren looking at him, his eyebrows up.

Instinctually, he swatted at him; he had seen that look on Breden's face more times than he could count if he forgot himself while talking about her.

"Listen — I'm not going to go into it right now. It's beyond impossible anyway. Even more than it would be otherwise."

"Did you tell her?"

He snorted. "I wasn't about to spill my guts to her before getting shipped off to the Hunger Games. I'm not cruel." He sighed heavily, remembering that their conversation was likely being broadcast across the country. "Though, I suppose, she knows now. I pretty much just admitted to it, huh?"

Soren rested a hand on his shoulder sympathetically. "It's okay," he said. "I think she deserves to know, no matter what happens."

He didn't agree, but he didn't really want to continue this conversation anymore. It hurt too much, to think of home, to think of his friends and his family and everyone that he had ever known. His home. He had left his whole life behind, forced to make a new one for the last few weeks of his life. How was he supposed to cope with that?

* * *

 **Ayana Wainwright**

 **Morning**

It had been two days since the Careers had found their campsite and they had made the narrow escape. Since then, nothing had really happened, which was both good and bad. On the one hand, it meant they weren't worrying constantly about their continued existence. On the other hand, it gave Ayana far too much time to think. She didn't really talk to the others in the alliance very much; she spoke to them when necessary, but she was trying to do her best to ignore the fact that not all of them could get out alive, and they would have to split up eventually. They might even end up having to kill one another. She didn't want to think too hard about it, but she also didn't want to get too close to anyone and make it harder on herself when that time inevitably came. It was hard, isolating herself, but she knew she had no choice.

It didn't help that some of the others seemed to get along, even to the point of becoming friends. Cedar and Rosewood, for example, were always talking, in the limited way they could. Cedar had been teaching her sign language, so they could sometimes have full conversations with their hands, rather than writing on the ground with their charcoal pencil. She sometimes hated how Cedar had to bring in a pencil as his token just to communicate, rather than something that actually reminded him of home. This was a really silly thing to think, but she wished the Hunger Games were more accessible.

That sounded _so_ stupid, and so, so wrong.

It was just that Cedar seemed to be at a disadvantage because he was Deaf; he didn't have the same chance at winning as the rest of them.

She looked around at the others, at Viola, who was so young and sweet. She felt a lump in her throat as she pictured all of them, one by one, dying off, having to see their faces up in the sky like they had to see Clio and Marley. None of this should be happening. This was the same thing everyone probably thought, but it was true. How come more people didn't rebel? Surely if they all rose up and demanded change... well, she supposed what happened the last time a rebellion was attempted was a good enough reason for people to be too afraid to try.

Instead, they decided watching children fight and kill one another every year was the better option.

It made her angry, on top of being sad.

She noticed that Cedar was watching her. She raised her eyebrows. He pointed at her and made an "O" and some other letter - she assumed, his eyebrows raised inquisitively back. She just didn't know what it was.

She frowned. "What?" she asked.

He sighed and wrote something on the ground. She came over.

"You okay?" it said. He looked up at her expectantly and made the finger-sign again.

"Oh," she said. She copied it. "K?"

He nodded, looking more than a little exasperated.

She bent and wrote "I'm fine. Just thinking."

He nodded, wiping the charcoal away. "You looked sad."

"Who isn't?"

He shrugged.

She forced a little bit of a smile before going back to where she had sat and rummaging around in her pack for something to eat. They were running low on food. There were so many of them that their supplies didn't last, even though they had grabbed a fair amount from the Cornucopia.

"We need to find more food," she announced. "Otherwise, we're going to run out within a matter of days."

Cedar signed something, and then spelled it slowly to Rosewood.

She shook her head, spelling something back.

"What did he say?" she asked her.

"He's asking about the mushrooms. I'm telling him it's too dangerous."

"We might not have any other choice," Viola said as jee approached. "The animals that are running around are tiny, we'd have to catch a hundred to feed us all for more than a day or two."

"There's got to be something more than lizards around here," Ida said. "The Gamemakers wouldn't do that to us."

Rose scoffed. "Sure they would," she retorted.

"No, listen. They want this to be entertaining. You know how much the audiences hate it when Tributes starve. There's got to be more to eat than just tiny lizards."

"If there is, we haven't found them. And we _definitely_ can't go running around looking for them. That'll just waste _more_ time and energy."

Cedar was watching them all intensely, trying to figure out what was being said, but Rosewood wasn't signing or writing for him.

"But if we take the time to catch fifty lizards every day, won't _that_ waste time and energy? And we'll stay in one place far too long. I don't know about you guys, but I don't know if we can take another interaction with the Career pack. I want to keep moving and hope they kill themselves off."

"We'll have to find food as we go," Ida said. "Sitting here arguing about it isn't helping us, that's for sure."

"Maybe there's larger ponds with fish or something," Viola said wistfully.

"It sure would be nice to have something with actual meat on its bones again," Rose agreed.

Ayana stood up and put her backpack on. "We should get going again," she said. "I don't want to stay here for too long. Something tells me the Careers will be looking for us, trying to get revenge for stabbing their guy."

"Good idea," Rose agreed.

They set out again, continuing away from where they had been discovered by the Careers. They were largely confused about directions now. Without the sun to guide them, they had no idea where the Cornucopia was. When the anthem came on that night it would give them a vague idea, though, so all hope wasn't lost.

* * *

 **Blake Venturi**

 **Afternoon**

Blake and Baia were sharing a meager meal just outside their cave. The darkness — which was somehow worse than the constant background gloom of the Arena — had gotten oppressive so they had decided to eat outside instead. At least out there they could see a few hundred feet in any direction.

Blake glanced at Baia out of the corner of her eye. Something seemed to be eating at her. Admittedly, she hadn't been entirely the same since she had admitted to having a crush on her back in the Training Center. She hoped she hadn't made her uncomfortable, hadn't ruined their relationship. At least, if she had, Baia hadn't mentioned it, and continued to help her and was willing to be her ally, despite everything. Blake didn't know what she would do were the situations reversed.

She supposed she should be thankful that Baia hadn't abandoned her at the first possible moment. She wished there was a way to talk to her about what happened without actually talking about it. She didn't want her innermost feelings, her personal thoughts, broadcast to the whole fucking country. She didn't want to think about what her siblings would think, how anyone with any sense would scoff at something so foolish.

That was what it was, really. It was so, _so_ foolish. And she wished, more than anything, that she could take her attraction by the neck and squeeze it until it disappeared, until she didn't have to think about it, worry about it, until it wasn't even something that needed to be considered.

"You okay?" Baia asked.

Had she been staring off into the distance? Did she look like she was deep in thought? She must have.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she told her. "I'm just like... thinking, you know."

"Same."

Blake smiled emptily. "That's about all there is to do anymore, huh?"

"Besides starve to death and agonize over the fact that I'm probably not lucky enough to make it out a second time? Yeah pretty much."

She laughed. Baia laughed a little bit too. It was terrifying, just how macabre their senses of humor had gotten.

"Blake."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

She frowned and looked up at her District Partner. "What for?"

"This."

And just like that, they were kissing.

Blake's brain short-circuited, all sensible, human thought just absolutely vanishing.

They were. Kissing? Huh?

Finally, she managed to remember what kissing was like and how someone was expected to respond to being kissed and she started kissing back.

She slowly wrapped her arms around Baia's neck, leaning closer and adjusting to a better position.

After a moment, Baia pulled away, but kept Blake wrapped in her arms. "Again. Sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"Because. This is the worst idea I've ever had."

Her eyes were full of tears. Holy shit.

"Don't — you don't have to be sorry. I'm... glad. If we're probably going to die then... why shouldn't we, right?"

"I can name ten reasons. But that's not important."

It was important, probably, but Blake didn't care enough to insist. It would only depress her anyway.

"Well... I'm glad we decided to make a stupid decision then," she whispered.

Baia laughed and wiped at her eyes. "Ezra's probably screaming at the screen right now."

"No, he's probably drowning in sponsor calls. You know how much everyone loves a good tragic love-story."

She looked almost as if that nauseated her. Blake supposed she understood. It was gross to think about; everyone in the Capitol swooning over their inevitable deaths, pretending to actually care about the fact that two teenagers in love — as if she and Baia were even in love at this point — was some kind of fictional drama with no real stakes. It was horrible, it was humiliating. It was borderline fetishisizing. It made her want to crawl out of her skin, to hide from the cameras.

It was this thought that made her scoot away from Baia. "Sorry," she said, sensing the tiniest of shifts in her mood. "I just — it's a lot to think about. Been a while for me, you know."

"No, yeah. I totally get it. I've never — I've never dated anyone before."

"Really?" she asked. "I would've thought..."

"What, because I'm a Victor everyone thinks I'm irresistible? Well you're not wrong in that respect. I just... didn't want to take part in that sort of thing. It's hard, being trans, and a Victor, and all. I just didn't feel like I would... make a good fit for anyone."

"That's pretty much how I am," Blake admitted. "Well — I'm not trans, or anything. But I've got bipolar disorder... so having relationships is hard. I don't usually... I don't want to bring people down with me, when I have a bad time."

"I think people who really care about you won't mind dealing with the things you struggle with. You live with you, after all. It's obviously possible."

Blake chuckled, but it was empty, sad. "Yeah, I guess so."

"I think you're stronger than you think. I think you don't give yourself enough credit. I mean, it's hard as fuck being back here, every day is a flashback waiting to happen. But I've come to terms with everything. I know what the outcome's gonna be. It's a little bit of peace. I can't imagine what it's like having to go through this with the mood swings and stuff."

"I guess so."

A hand laid gently atop hers. "You're _not_ as hard to get along with as you think. Trust me. _I'm_ hard to get along with."

"I seem to manage." She chuckled dryly. "Maybe we're both so hard to get along with we're perfect for each other."

"Yeah maybe."

* * *

 **Desmond Shard**

 **Evening**

Desmond hadn't managed to shake the feeling that he was being watched all day. He was sure he was imagining it, though. The footsteps behind him, every so often, rustling the sand or misplacing some pebbles surely weren't there, because every time he whipped around to find the source of the disturbance, there was nothing but darkness and mushrooms.

He hated being alone for this exact reason. He didn't have anyone to talk to but himself - and he tried to refrain from doing _that_ out loud because it would look weird — and if he were attacked by... pretty much anyone, he didn't really have much of a chance.

Of course, thinking about that only made him panic a little bit, and he turned around, thinking he heard something again. He thought he saw movement and he froze. His heart was pounding in his ears. He felt like a rabbit caught in a wolf's sights. He thought he had read somewhere that wolves stalk their pray.

The question was... was this a Tribute? Or was it a mutt the Gamemakers had released into the Arena to follow Tributes around until they went mad from the fear of being followed?

"Who's there?" he asked, his voice shaky and far more afraid than he ever wanted his voice to be.

Of course, there was no answer, but somehow that made him feel a little better. If there _was_ someone out there, at least they would know that he knew they were there. After a moment of watching, he turned again and started off again, maybe walking a little faster than he had been.

He went through his supplies in his mind. He had actually gotten pretty lucky. He had food, and a warm coat, and a knife he currently had clutched in his hand. The only problem was: no water. He wondered who else had that problem in the Arena. It was kind of strange. There must be an abundant source _somewhere_ , otherwise water would have been more common to get from the packs at the Cornucopia.

It was funny, how much watching the Hunger Games from a young age had attuned him to how the Gamemakers and the other Tributes thought. It was almost enough to give anyone a chance, if it weren't for the fact that the majority of the population of Panem was underfed and chronically ill. If they were all on equal footing when it came to physical prowess, the odds might _actually_ be a little more even. Desmond had always been a decent strategist, it was one of the only things he didn't have to lie about in order to get an alliance together. So he spent a lot of his time thinking about the best way to make sure he lived as long as possible.

There was that sound again.

He whipped around and frowned. "Okay, last chance! If you don't come out, I'll come find you." This was stupid, this was pointless — if he saw what was following him or not, it wouldn't change anything. He still wasn't really able to put up much of a fight.

Of course, there was silence. Nothing moved, nothing changed.

He sighed and turned around, continuing on. He didn't have the energy to actually go looking for a fight. He didn't really _want_ to get snuck up on, but he wasn't going to just... try and find them in the bushes. He sighed, trying to calm his anxious heart rate. He could barely hear over its pounding.

"Okay, okay, Shard... let's think. Water. We need to find water. Where might we find water?" He looked around, searching for a damp bed of dirt, for a particularly lively patch of mushrooms, for any kind of glowworms or something. Anything that might indicate moisture. He had found a small stream two days ago. He could circle back to that if needed. He probably _did_ need to, honestly. He had been trying his best to ignore the dryness in his mouth, how tired he was, how his head pounded. He wouldn't last long trying to find water while dehydrated. Maybe his best bet was circling back and just staying there. He wished he had gotten something to actually _carry_ water in. Then, at least, he wouldn't have to camp out right next to a water source and risk being seen by anyone else looking for the same thing.

He had just decided to turn back when he heard crunching behind him, and before he could turn, something hard slammed into the back of his head and sent him sprawling to the ground.

He tried to sit up, to scramble away, to do anything, but the pain in his head seemed to pin him down. His head was swimming, and nothing was really going through his mind at the moment.

Despite his best efforts, his eyes slipped shut and he collapsed against the rock.

When he woke up — it couldn't have been much longer, seeing as he was still alive — he was first aware of his lumbering movement. He was being... dragged. His arm felt like it was going to pop out of his socket. He craned his neck and looked up. It was the kid from District Six. He had a bloodied club resting on his shoulder, and Desmond's backpack, along with another, on his shoulder. He looked down over his shoulder at him as he moved. "Oh, good, you're awake. I was hoping I wouldn't have to wait too long."

He started struggling, trying to pull his arm out of the kid's grasp, but he held him tight, even as he started clawing at his wrist.

"I just wanted to get out of the open, didn't want to get interrupted."

He dropped Desmond's wrist and turned, slamming the club down on his kneecaps with a horrible crack. He howled in pain.

"Now that I don't have to worry about you running away-"

"You fucking bastard! I'll kill you!"

He squatted over him, taking out a knife from one of the pockets on his backpack. "No, sorry. I didn't get Reaped for nothing."

* * *

 **Mica Carrack**

 **Night**

Mica looked up and around as he heard a canon in the distance.

"Wonder who that is," Riva said gloomily.

Keiynan looked over his shoulder at them. "We'll find out in a little while. The anthem should be soon."

Mica wandered away from the group a ways, thinking he heard something in the distance. He didn't like sitting down. If he sat, it just got harder and harder to get back up again. The wound that girl had given him was constantly griefing him, but he wasn't about to let it stop him. He wasn't going to let it turn him into an invalid. He had taken hits before, it never knocked him down.

He wanted revenge, but more than that, he wanted to be able to hold up in the eyes of the others. He knew they were practically scavengers, waiting for one of them to get sick or injured, so they could cut them off and kill them. He wasn't about to let that happen. No matter what Keiynan said, he knew how the Careers worked. He knew they were all just waiting to stab each other in the back. Anything for the win.

He let out an involuntary whoop as he came across a pool of water absolutely _brimming_ with pale little fish. The others came over to investigate, and they all congratulated him or clapped him on the back for his find.

They spent the next few hours spear-hunting and knife-fishing, practically everything of any decent size in the pond.

They cooked the fish as the anthem began. Only one death tonight. The canon they had heard earlier; it was the kid from District Twelve, the one who insisted to be called by his last name.

"Wonder what happened to him," Vernazza mused. "Think one of the others got him?"

"Who's really actually capable of killing someone?" Keiynan said.

"That nut-case from Six," Vernazza shot back, mouth full of fish. "He looked like the happiest kid alive when he got Reaped."

Riva stuck out a finger. "And his interview! Jesus, you'd think he was looking forward to killing people."

Keiynan rolled his eyes, but Mica was sure he was the only one who noticed. Boden Clairie wasn't the first Tribute to want to go into the Games just so he could kill someone. Usually they weren't from the Outer Districts, though. He wondered if anyone else saw the hypocrisy.

"No matter who or _what_ killed him," Keiynan said, "just means less competition, right?"

Everyone could, at least, agree on that. The last thing any of them wanted was more competition. The faster the others picked each other off, or died of dehydration, or got killed by Mutts, the better chances they all had. Of course, they'd have to get through each other that was the problem. If Mica wanted to survive, he'd have to fight off everyone else. No matter how the Career Pack resolved, at least three of them would survive, likely until the end. Which meant they were going to have to fight. He hoped that, when the split happened, he would be able to go with Riva. If not, he'd be fine by himself, but the more chances District Four had, the better.

At least, he figured he would be alright by himself if he managed to heal well enough first. Because if shit went down right then, well... he'd probably be able to get away, but without access to the medicine and the food in the Cornucopia, he had no idea how long he would last. He sat beside the gas stove with Riva, tearing pieces of fish off and putting them in his mouth as he thought. He figured she was having similar thought processes; he wouldn't be surprised if post-Alliance plans had crossed everyone's minds over the past couple of days. After all, it was an inevitability.

"How are you doing?" Riva asked in low tones. She must have finally picked up on the fact that he didn't like "being injured" in front of the others. It made him look weak. It didn't matter what he was actually feeling, he had to be strong. He couldn't trust these people.

"I'm fine," he said. He wasn't exactly fine, but he was doing as well as could be expected. His stitches hadn't broken yet, which was a good sign. He was just in constant pain and had been more or less taking pain pills like candy, but he was fine.

He would keep going because he had to. He wasn't going to just sit at the cornucopia like a baby and let the others underestimate him. He wasn't going to turn into the weak link, especially when they had the District Eight kid with them still.

"Are you really fine?" Riva asked.

He rolled his eyes. They had, more or less, become acquaintances, which was as far as Mica was willing to take a relationship in the Arena. Friends was too close. Acquaintances, Allies, and enemies were the only people who mattered. They had their agreement, that if one made it out and not the other, that they would make sure the other's family was okay, that they had enough to eat. And that was enough to make him at least tolerate her. But he liked her beyond that. He was impressed by her. She had a lot of fight in her, and her reasons for Volunteering were noble - more noble, at least, than the Chosen Tribute's. Not to mention she had a level head, and seemed pretty normal. She obviously didn't like the idea of killing, but he had to admit; neither did he, really. Sure, that might have made her weak in some people's eyes, but he also knew, just by virtue of having been around her, having seen her in action, that if she needed to, she would do anything she could to survive.

"I got fucking stabbed, Riva, how do you think I'm doing?" he retorted.

She rolled her eyes. "Do you need anything?"

"No. I told you. I'm fine. I'll live."

"You're gonna split your stitches. Or get an infection. And then where will you be?"

"I'll survive. I've taken worse."

She hummed her doubt. "I'm on your side here, dude. You can talk to me. I'm not like them."

He looked up at her, and her eyes were cold and serious. Maybe he could. At least, enough to warm up their alliance a little bit. "I can't show how it is," he said. "That's practically a target on my back. Have you seen Vernazza? She's itching for another kill. She just needs the tiniest excuse."

"No matter what, Keiynan's going to keep his promise as long as possible. If Vernazza tries anything, we'll all get her. You don't have to worry about it."

"Still. The others don't deserve to know what I'm feeling."

"Okay, okay. I'm not asking you to have a heart to heart with anyone. I'm just saying... you don't have to hide it from me. We can help each other. We /need to help each other."

* * *

 **A/N: Yeah… it's been really hard for me to keep writing. I've hit such a hard stumbling block and sometimes it feels hard to get the chapters the length I want. I know chapter lengths don't** _ **really**_ **matter, but it's a certain expectation because otherwise they won't be good anymore. Despite that, I'm sticking with this! I hope some of y'all are too lmao. I'm trying to get through.**

 **Anyway, let me know what you thought!  
CQ: who do you think will be the first to break the Career pack? What do you think will happen to them?**


	39. Downhill: Games Day Six

**Denver Teikell**

 **Morning**

Denver's mouth was dry. It had been yesterday when he had last stopped at the small pond he had found, and he had gone off in different directions from it, trying to find a place he could camp out that was close enough to it, since he didn't have anything to carry his water in. So far, he hadn't found much in the way of shelter, and hadn't been able to locate another water source, either. He hated it. He should have grabbed something like a water bottle before running from the cornucopia, but the only one he had spotted had been in the opposite direction and about twenty feet away. If he had tried to get it there was a good possibility that he would have been killed by one of the others.

He frowned as he saw a black precipice in front of him. He picked up his speed, trotting over to the edge. He looked down either side. It seemed to stretch on forever, a jagged line separating the Arena in half. Unless...

"Are you the edge?" he asked, crouching down and looking into the emptiness. It would make sense, after all. It was probably less effective than a force field, but at least the Tributes could see it before walking into it. Not that it wasn't "entertaining" to the Capitolites when some poor kid ran face-first into it and then choked to death on their own tongue, but this was a Quell. The Games had to be interesting and imaginative.

He stood up, found a relatively light mushroom, and threw it as hard as he could across the gap.

It landed, rolled a few feet, and then Denver jumped back as it made a horrifying crackling noise. An electric warble traveled up into the air, traveling seemingly on nothing. A few hexagons warped into a blue color. He cocked his head. Had he been hallucinating, or had yellow light actually leaked through the hole in the field? He blinked, trying to determine whether his eyes had been deceiving him. He was about to grab another mushroom to try it again when movement below him caught his eye.

"What the..." He leaned over the edge and saw something flicker in the darkness. It looked like a spark, just before it caught. It happened again, a few feet to the other side. He frowned. This must have been something from the Gamamakers. And since he was so close to the edge of the Arena, and was fucking with the force field... well, he should probably get the fuck out of the area. He turned and started jogging off. He didn't want to run yet, since that would tire him out and dehydrate him more. But if whatever was in that ravine decided to chase after him, he absolutely _would_ run like hell.

As he got further away, heading back in the direction of his little water pool, he saw a long tail and padded feet. His eyes widened. "Oh shit," he muttered. He turned back forward and started running, his feet pounding on the ground with the rocks sliding out from underneath him. That thing was _huge_. And he didn't know a lot about geckos — only about as much as they learned about the ones that were native to District Ten, and even then, only what they learned in science class — but he knew that none of them breathed fire. Or had fire in them. Or whatever it was that he saw.

He glanced behind him again. The thing had emerged completely from the crevice now, swinging a great orange head back and forth a few times ponderously. It seemed to catch him in its sights as he slowed to get a better look at it.

It started running, faster than Denver had thought was possible, and he took off sprinting himself. "Shit, shit shit shit!" he exclaimed. He cast his eyes around, looking for a hiding place.

But no, a hiding place probably wasn't a good idea, was it? This was a Mutt, designed by the Gamemakers to, more than likely, herd the Tributes away from the edge. Which meant it had a range. If he just got far enough from the border of the Arena, it would probably stand down. As it was, he had no idea what kind of things it was equipped with. For all he knew it would be able to turn into molten lava and sink into whatever hole he found to hide himself in and would cook him alive. Or it would breathe fire and do it that way. No, his best bet was to just outrun it, get out of its range, and never go back that direction again if he could help it. Not even to find out what the deal was with the force field.

He was hot, and sweating, and his lungs were burning, but he dare not take off his jacket while he ran. This thing was fast, but not so much so that it would be able to catch him if he kept up at this pace. If he slowed or got distracted or fell, then that might be the opportunity it needed to catch up with him, and then it would be all over. He just hugged his bag of bread to his chest and ran, keeping his sights set on what was in front of him, hoping that the edge of the Mutt's territory was at least close.

How many of those things were there? Did the crevice cover the whole edge of the Arena? Who else knew about them? Chances were, if anyone else had found these geckos — or maybe they were salamanders, he couldn't be sure — they likely hadn't survived the encounter, unless they had been as quick-thinking and lucky as Denver seemed to have been.

He didn't know how long he ran. He was exhausted soon enough, but as little sleep as he had had, and how dehydrated and malnourished he was, could easily explain that. Time seemed to lose meaning when one was in a life-or-death situation. All he could really focus on was the blood pumping underneath his skin, and heading forward. That was all that mattered. If he just kept going, he would escape. He had no way of knowing for sure, but that was what his instincts told him, what every other year of watching the Hunger Games had told him. He chose to believe it; even if it was wrong, at least it gave him some hope of escape.

He splashed through a tiny pond, and moments after he heard a hissing sound. The Mutt must have stepped in the water. Which meant that it was hot to the touch. _Really_ hot, if it had turned the water to steam just by touching it. Which meant that he needed to do everything he could to _not_ let it touch him.

The environment started to change. The rocks that dotted the landscape began to grow, and soon, tall columns and cliffs started springing up from the ground. About two hundred feet ahead of him, two cliffs rose up, and he was heading right for the opening. If he could just get in there, something told him that he would be safe.

Just as he passed into the space between the cliffs, he heard a hiss behind him and dared a look back. The salamander had come to a stop after climbing atop a tall rock. He slowed down, watching the lizard and waiting for it to start after him. Had he reached the edge of its range? Or was this another trick to make him let his guard down? Or worse, had he just walked into the territory of a whole new threat waiting to pounce on him and end his life?

The red lizard watched him, head twitching from side to side as it licked its lips. But it didn't move. After a moment, Denver turned and started off again. He wasn't running, necessarily, since it felt like if he ran anymore he might die, but definitely faster than a walk. Adrenaline was still pumping full-force through his bloodstream, and his flight senses kept him from relaxing even long enough to catch his breath. Instead, his chest huffed and his legs shook, but he couldn't force himself to stop.

Eventually, he became aware of a sound piercing the silence of the Arena. He frowned and finally came to a stop, tilting his head in order to hear better.

No, he definitely wasn't hallucinating. That crashing sound _wasn't_ all in his head. For a moment, he panicked, thinking this was a trap set by the Gamemakers. But then he recognized it: _water_! A waterfall. He was saved! He started jogging towards the sound, the promise of a fresh drink pushing him forward despite his fatigue. He rounded a corner, the rumbling turning into a roar by now. His hand brushed damp rock, and just like that, there it was. An enormous pool, fed by a waterfall from the top of the cliff, flowing out in two directions into the rocks and out of sight. He came forward and collapsed on the shore, bending and dipping his cupped hands into the water. It was freezing, but he didn't care. He shoveled drink after drink into his mouth. It woke his body up after it had started to shut down from dehydration.

He took his jacket off, now that he could relax enough to feel how hot he was. He didn't know how long he sat there, but eventually he leaned back, letting out a contented sigh and shutting his eyes.

After a moment, he looked around, searching for a place he might be able to rest — at least for the moment.

He saw an opening in the cliff face not too far, and he stood up to wander over to it. It was dark inside, but after a few moments, his eyes gradually began adjusting to the darkness.

"Hello?" he called inside. That was stupid, he knew, but he figured it was a better idea to have someone come running out than to just wander into their den. Assuming they were a person.

After a few tentative moments of silence, he ventured into the cave, keeping close to the wall and always ready to turn and make a quick escape. He got several feet inside and nothing happened. He decided that was enough evidence saying that the cave was empty, and he relaxed. He sat down and put his jacket back on, as the temperature had begun to drop steadily. He was either going down in altitude (or depth, he supposed, since they were supposedly underground) or the Gamemakers were decreasing the temperature artificially. He didn't even know what time it was, really. All sense of time passing had been lost, more or less, as he had run away from the salamander.

He assumed it had to be getting close to midday, but he couldn't be sure. Not until the anthem played that night.

At least he was safe, for now. Or at least, it seemed like he was.

* * *

 **Riva Lamelle**

 **Afternoon**

Riva watched as Keiynan and Vernazza shared a whispering argument a few feet away. They had returned to the cornucopia a few hours ago, and since then Vernazza had been in a sour mood. And that was an understatement. Moment by moment, Riva could tell the tension was mounting to a near-breaking point. She was sitting beside Mica, away from the others. Both were watching in a mix of awe and horror. Surely they weren't going to let this all blow up so soon? It had only been six days!

"What do you think?" Mica asked quietly. "Think this is the end?"

Riva chuckled. "No, probably not. There'll be a cap on this. But this is the beginning of the end. I dunno how much longer this will last."

"Well, in the inevitability of this blowing up in everyone's faces, what's our plan?"

She looked up at him, raising her eyebrows. _Their_ plan? So they were dead-set on teaming up after this. It only made sense, but it was relieving to actually have it confirmed.

"Get out without getting caught up in it, hope they pick themselves off, and then swoop in for the easy win?"

He smiled, mirthlessly. "That's easier said than done."

"You're right, but I can dream." She sighed.

She never used to be like this. She had never found any sort of humor in something as disturbing as this. People who made light of the Hunger Games always invited her ire. How fucked up could you be to joke about other humans dying? Now, she more or less understood; for those who were _in_ the Arena, or the families of the Tributes, it was a coping mechanism, an attempt to make the disturbing lighthearted so they didn't have to face the reality. Because the reality was enough to break someone. She had seen it often enough, both on-screen and off. She saw the ghosts that haunted the Victor's Village.

"Seriously, though," Mica said. Obviously he wasn't going to let her drop it, nor would he allow her to fall into the rabbit hole of her own thoughts. At least she had someone there to throw her a lifeline.

"Well, I guess we just... get out with as much of an advantage as we can. Take down whoever we can, when we have the opportunity. Just... do what we have to. Try and survive. The details will have to wait. There's no telling what will change between now and later."

Mica's gaze was like steal, though he kept it focused forward, watching the fight come to a head and then disintegrate as quickly as it had started. "You mean in case we find out we're not compatible? Or in case one of us dies?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of we don't know where we'll be when it happens, or when it will happen, or anything really more detailed than its inevitability and the impending bloodshed. But, hey, no one will blame you for being a cynic."

He finally glanced over at her, something akin to shame crossing his face. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't realize." He chuckled. "I guess I really am a cynic."

"Again. Can't blame you. We live in a pretty cynical situation right now."

"No kidding."

They watched as Vernazza stormed away, pushing past Peri as they came to comfort Keiynan. They disappeared to the cornucopia — a common enough occurrence that definitely hadn't gone unnoticed by the others. Samuel followed them with his eyes before going to the tent that he was sleeping in.

There was so much tension in this tiny clearing, it was amazing they hadn't all killed one another yet. She had seen this energy on people before, usually before she went up against them in the ring. She had seen it on the face of the chosen Tribute, back in the District on the day of the Reaping. They were always ferocious, one punch from them could break your nose, but they were always on the wrong part of their feet, always throwing all their weight, all their anger, into their one swing. It didn't take much to take them down after that; usually if you smirked at them they'd go absolutely fucking berserk. While on the outside, most of these people seemed a little better put-together, all the nerosies combined and put in such proximity was a pressure cooker just waiting to explode.

"So what do you think about Kieynan and Imperial?" Mica asked after a moment. He chuckled briefly. "Listen to me. I sound like a fucking kid."

She looked over at him and then returned her eyes to the mouth of the cornucopia. "What do you mean?" she asked.

He raised his eyebrows and shifted, turning more towards her. "You haven't noticed?"

"Noticed what. I've been a little preoccupied with, you know, not dying." She _had_ noticed, but it was embarrassing to admit.

"They're always wandering off together, always sitting with each other. The other day I saw Peri go into his tent while I was on my watch."

"You think they're fucking?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I think they're doing _something_ at least. Watch, we'll have another fucking romance on our hands."

She snorted. "Their funeral."

Maybe the benefits they would get from the suckers watching would trickle down.

God, she hated thinking like that. Even though they were practically digging their own grave, that didn't mean she actually _wanted_ to see them hurt. Even if they managed to get to the very end, there was no way the Capitol would allow a couple out; especially not a pair from two different Districts. That was too much solidarity. Friendship between anyone was a dangerous thing. Protecting people from another District was antithetical to the point. They were all competitors here. Keiynan and Peri had better not forget that. If it came down to just the two of them — a real possibility — the Capitol would expect them to do the job. Keiynan she figured would do it. Peri... well, they might be inclined to sacrifice themself for Keiynan to live. Only time would tell.

* * *

 **Rosewood Hart**

 **Evening**

Rose was leaning against Cedar, looking up at the emptiness above them. If her internal clock was right, then the anthem should be coming on soon. It had been a long day. They had been walking more or less aimlessly. It was hard to find a place to sit, especially after the Careers had found them the other day. She assumed they had gone back to the cornucopia to lick their wounds, but she would be stupid if she didn't think they would be back. Chances were they were tracking them right now. But they outnumbered them. Sure, the Careers were better trained, better fed, and had more supplies, and Rosewood's alliance was made up of outer-District kids who were afraid and dehydrated, but if they had enough of an element of surprise, then maybe they'd be able to at least pick a few of them off. But at what cost?

She shut her eyes, comforted by having her head on Cedar's shoulder. She was glad they had met. She was glad they were friends. She didn't know if they'd be able to win, and what was more, she didn't know if they could _both_ make it out, and losing him would tear her apart. But it was nice to be able to be close to someone again. She had spent so long pushing people away, keeping everyone at arm's length. Sometimes it got so lonely. There was a certain amount of unaccountability, being friends with someone who was probably going to die. It meant she didn't have to worry about anything long-term. She found comfort in his presence, and that was all that mattered.

Lights came up behind her eyelids and the anthem started playing. No deaths tonight. Maybe they would all get a brief respite, before the Gamemakers started trying to herd them together. They'd probably try and break up the big alliance, to cover more ground and demoralize them. But it seemed like, for the night, everything was quiet.

Viola came over and handed them the canteen. "There's a pond nearby," jee said. "So don't worry about not drinking all of it. I think we can all manage to rehydrate ourselves."

"Thanks," Rrose said. She moved away from Cedar and took a long drink before handing it over to him.

Viola returned to where jee had been sitting with Ayana. The poor kid. Jee deserved better than this.

As the anthem droned out, Rose noticed something... _off_. The Arena was, for the most part, entirely silent. But now, in addition to the silence, there was a... tension. Something that she couldn't explain or pinpoint. All she knew was that it made her nervous.

She stood up quickly, drawing her knife. She looked around, eyes straining to see past the glow of the mushrooms. Something had changed. The slightest alteration in air pressure.

Cedar stood up as well, but he didn't sign anything.

"What's wrong?" Ayana asked, approaching.

"Sh! Somethings out there."

"How do you know?"

She glanced at her. "I dunno," she said. "I just... know."

And then she heard it. Shuffling. Pebbles scraping against rock.

"Everyone get up! Get your stuff!"

"Where's Ida?" Ayana asked.

"She's at the pond!" Viola said.

"Someone go and get her, now!"

They both went running off, leaving Rose and Cedar alone. Cedar grabbed her hand as they stood back to back. Rose had her knife out, pointed at the darkness, waiting for whatever it was to appear. She heard Ayana and Viola's voices calling out, fading quickly into the distance. The pond wasn't far. They'd be back in a minute.

A low groan, almost a whisper, reached her. _Rosewood_...

"Who's there?" she called into the darkness.

It came again, this time to her left. She turned, adrenaline filling her up. What she wouldn't do to be able to see in the fucking dark.

A flash of movement from behind a rock nearby alerted her. More shuffling, getting ever closer. Out of the darkness emerged lumbering figures. They were bent, dragging useless legs behind them, reaching out and grasping at nothing. As a few passed underneath the light of a mushroom, their skin illuminated a sickly pallid, green underneath the bluish light.

"Guys!" Rose shouted.

She heard the answering call. They were close.

They needed to run to them. They needed to get out of there. "Okay. Time to go."

She turned and ran in the direction of their voices, but was stopped short as she came face to face with the horrible, gaunt face of Cypress.

She froze in her place, eyes wide. She wasn't even aware of Cedar shouting and pulling on her arm.

"Rosewood," Cypress whispered. Her eyes were pale, rolled backwards towards her skull. Her face was sunken. There was dried blood on her neck. She could only guess it was from the gunshot wound on the back of her head.

"No," she said.

Tears filled her eyes and as much as she wanted, _needed_ to run, she couldn't move from her spot. That day in the street flashed in front of her eyes, the blood of two perfectly innocent people splashing over the stones as she lost what she had thought would have been the love of her life. In that way, she supposed, Cypress _had_ been. She hadn't allowed herself to love anyone else in that time. She would probably die never loving anyone like she had loved her.

Cedar was still pulling on her hand. Finally, she snapped out of it and dodged away just as Cypress swung at her with dirt- and blood-caked nails.

She screamed, and out of the corner of her eye she saw more movement. Two more figures emerged, and she paused just long enough to see who they were — her parents. They were lumbering towards her, whispering her name.

She let go of Cedar's hand and backed away, pressing her back up against the rock and screaming. They were her family. They had her family. They had killed them and brought them back somehow. They had dug Cypress up and turned her into some thing, something out of her nightmares, and sent her into the Arena to kill her.

She glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw her brothers. On the other side, the old man who had been shot by the Peacekeepers and her sister. All of them were whispering her name.

There were tears running down her face, and she was shaking her head, trying to banish them away like she had learned to do with nightmares, trying to drown out her name.

"Rosewood!"

She opened her eyes a crack and saw Cedar trying to beat one of the creatures down, yelling for her.

"Cedar," she said.

"They're not real!" Ayana called from further away. "They're not really your family!"

She screamed and yanked her hand away as she felt teeth bite into it. She was surrounded. The others didn't have enough weapons to get to her. She knew what this was. This was vengeance for what she had said to the Gamemakers. The _pigs_. Still, though, she kicked at her sister, trying to ignore the horrible squelch. She started running, ducking down and meaning to bulldoze her way through the line of Mutts, if she had to. But when she met the chest of the creature, she knew she had made a grave mistake. It hardly budged, and instead, it grabbed her. Long claws sunk into her back, and she knew moments later there would be teeth.

"Run!" she screamed at her allies. "Run! Leave me!"

"No!" Cedar was desperately shoving, pushing, kicking, scratching, trying to wrench her free.

Why weren't they attacking him?

Of course. This was revenge on her. The others would likely be hunted after.

She looked up at him through teary eyes. "Just go," she whispered. "I'm sorry. Just go."

"No!" He was crying now too, and it took Ayana and Ida pulling him away to finally get him to leave her behind. Despite this, he kept looking at her, even as the creatures started biting into her.

* * *

 **Idalah Aven**

 **Evening**

"There's nothing we can do," Ayana said to Cedar. He had gone nonverbal, just crying and struggling and screaming. "There's nothing we can do, Cedar, she's already gone!"

They managed to pull them away and Viola turned to look back at the group of shadowy creatures who had converged on Rose. "Why aren't they coming after us?" jee asked.

"Because they weren't sent for us," Ida said. "But we should clear out. They might come after us once they're…"

They continued away, but Cedar kept trying to get them to go back, his pleas muddled and difficult to understand, even though they had all spent quite some time around him.

He went completely still as he heard the canon. He collapsed to his knees, looking behind them into the darkness. They could barely see the mutts anymore, save for a few flashes of movement when one moved into the light of a mushroom. "No," he moaned.

Ida knelt next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "We need to go," she said softly, though she knew he couldn't hear her. "We don't know if they're going to call them off. If they aren't, we're in danger. She'd want us to get to safety."

He looked over at her, eyes wide and sad and red from tears. He didn't say anything. He was flapping his hands against each other. She stood up and held a hand out to him. "Come on," she whispered. "It's okay. It's gonna be okay." She knew how to sign "OK," so she did, trying to get across what she was saying. He sent one last glance at the darkness before standing up and following her.

They walked quickly, but decided that was a fine pace.

After a while it became apparent that they weren't being followed by the mutts anymore, and Ayana had them all take a break. They had left in a hurry, shoving supplies into bags and taking half-full canteens. They needed to do an inventory check, and decide what they were going to do next. After all, they were still on the run from the Careers, and they had made a lot of noise earlier. They had no clue where in the Arena they were, how close they might be.

"We need a new place to camp," Ayana said. "We've come across several rivers. We'd have to backtrack to get to them, though."

"But that might not be a bad thing," Ida said, her arms wrapped around Viola's shoulders. "We've already been there. So if we go back, the Careers aren't as likely to look there. They'll probably assume we've done the sensible thing and tried to keep going the same direction: away from them."

"But there's also the possibility that we run into them, while they're out hunting for us. And they outnumber us now, in total. We're down a weapon and a bag. If we met them now I don't think we'd be as lucky as we were the last time. Something tells me that guy from District Four is out for blood, even if Rose is dead."

Ida sighed. "Everything's gone wrong," she said quietly. "Ever since they found us the other day. It's all gone downhill."

"Hey, don't say that. We still have a chance. We're still the second-largest alliance. If we can just stay together, maybe we can outlast them. You've all seen how those inner-District alliances function. They won't make it long before they start killing each other. And then, if they at least split up, we'll have the advantage." She paused. "All we have to do is stick together, be strong. We can't give up now."

She looked over at Cedar. She was worried most about him. The others would definitely be upset about Rose's death — especially one so violent, one so obviously sent for _her_ — but none of them had been as close to her as he had been. He had been nonverbal for hours, just rubbing his pants with the palms of his hands, rocking back and forth, and mumbling. She figured he just needed time. Time, and maybe space. She wanted to keep a close eye on him though. She doubted he would actually do something drastic like run away or kill himself, but she wanted to be able to support him. They had been friends, after all. It would have been hard to see something so gruesome.

She looked up into the sky. They wouldn't see her face up there until tomorrow.

She took an inventory of their supplies. Rosewood had been carrying a knife and a backpack with a pouch of medicine herbs, and a water bottle. Cedar had taken the wood-less fire kit out earlier and put it in a different backpack, and she had taken the compass out that morning to look at it; it was still in her pocket. At least not all was lost. Still, she mourned the loss of the medicine and water, almost more so than the weapon. Both were hard to come by in a harsh Arena like this one. She supposed she could only hope that no one would get sick — or, if they did, that some wealthy soul in the Capitol would take pity on them enough to send them something.

They hadn't, up until this point, really had a dedicated "leader." They all just listened to whoever had the best idea, more or less. Everyone respected Rose the most because she was the scariest and also probably the most confident. She was also the only one of them who had killed anyone, if Ida remembered correctly, and she had literally stabbed a Career so they could get away. But with her gone, their entire alliance was demoralized. They needed leadership. She and Ayana were the oldest, so it seemed like it would likely be between the two of them.

She looked over at her. Personally, between the two of them, she thought she was the more capable.

So that meant she had to assert herself, and give everyone a direction. She needed to boost their spirits, since by the look of it, everyone was pretty put out.

"Okay," she announced. "Our best bet right now is to circle back and find one of those rivers. if we can find a place we can hide out, we should stay there."

"But what about the Careers?" Viola asked.

"If they find us, we'll deal with that then. I don't think we should worry about something that might happen so much it prevents us from doing anything at all. So we're gonna break for a few more minutes, and then we're going to turn around. Sound good?"

Everyone glanced at one another — except for Cedar, who was still turned around and obviously hadn't really heard her — before nodding.

* * *

 **President Norma Oak**

 **Evening**

After getting a call through the priority line that Scarlet needed her at Aeneus' apartment, Norma left the office an hour early and hurried across town.

There, a crowd in front of the building that had, more or less, been a constant fixture since the murder, watched as she emerged from her car. A pathway was made for her thanks to the Peacekeepers with riot shields, and she went up to the apartment at the top floor. She found the place swarming with investigators and Peacekeepers, but once they noticed her they made it easy for her to get through. Scarlet was in the back bedroom on Aeneus' personal computer.

"I managed to finally crack the password a few hours ago," he explained. "I figured you might want to be here to see what we find."

"Good call," she said. A Peacekeeper brought in a chair for her and she pulled it up beside Scarlet.

On the screen were several file names, in what must have been an encrypted folder hidden deep in the computer's data. Most of it was mundane; Gamemaking strategies, state secrets, the like. These were all things the Head Gamemaker was privy to, so there was little of interest. But the further in they went, the more it became apparent that there were more personal documents in this folder than there ought to have been. They started opening them, finding some of them password protected. It was a different password than the first one had been, but easier to crack. Aeneus had been a sentimental creature, so the date of theirs and Albia's anniversary was easy enough to guess.

"Obviously I know that documents and data contained in personal computers and such can give us clues as to who might have had motive and means," Norma said, watching while Scarlet opened document after document, "but why are we going so far in? Do you think Aeneus was up to illegal activities?"

Scarlet glanced over at her, eyes grave and serious. It didn't look good on him. He was usually so gentle and fun-loving. "I can't rule it out, ma'am," he said. "If we find something, it could open up new suspects that we hadn't considered before."

They sat there, huddled together, shoulders touching, as they read through personal documents. Most of them were still mundane; bank statements, receipts for expensive recreational drugs, lawsuits that had been shoved under the rug. All things that were common enough in the Capitolite elite, and all things that Norma had been aware of beforehand. She had told Scarlet about the drugs, and the people who had been victimized by the lawsuits. Those alleys had all been explored ages ago, with no luck.

But finally, they found encrypted messages, sent via a program even Norma hadn't heard of before.

"Holy shit," she murmured.

They tried to open the archives of the messages, but found themselves at yet another password block. This one wasn't as easy to break.

"Obviously this is more important than any of this other shit," Scarlet muttered. "I might need more time with this. Why don't you head out into the dining room?I'm pretty sure Republic is planning on bringing the Avoxes in to interrogate."

She rolled her eyes. "Great," she muttered. "This will be absolutely awful." But, she knew she wouldn't be of any help here, so she stood up and went out to the other room.

Republic was easy to spot; he was tall by himself, but his tower of hair and accessories added at least another two feet.

She approached and he spotted her out of the corner of his eye. He bowed dramatically, nearly knocking her over with his elaborate headdress. "Madame President," he greeted.

"Good evening, Republic," she said, folding her hands behind her back. "Scarlet is working on something by himself in the other room. He sent me out here to observe your interrogation."

"Oh wonderful! I'm just waiting for the interpreter to get here."

She looked around, at all the people walking around, doing their work. It seemed like a distracting place for an interrogation. "Can I ask why you didn't bring the Avoxes back to headquarters?"

"It's manipulation," he explained. "This is the place they worked, the scene of the crime; they know Aeneus' blood hasn't come out of the carpet yet. If they glance through that door there, they'll be able to see it. In most of them it will inspire anxiety and upset. Many of them are so repulsed by the idea of violence because of their own trauma that the mere thought of it being done to someone else will make them tell the whole truth no matter what. But, if any of them conspired, or worse, _did_ the deed themselves, then it will give them guilt and even more fear for being so close to so many officers at the scene of the crime."

She smiled. "That's very impressive, Republic, how did you come up with such a thing?"

"I minored in psychology in university. I know how to get into people's heads. And Avoxes are _so_ simple, it's easy! Like manipulating children into behaving."

Just then a young woman came in, readjusting her short, intensely curled black and pink hair. "So sorry I'm late!" she said. "The Peacekeepers outside didn't seem to believe that an Avox interpreter really existed, and they thought I was someone from the pap trying to get in."

She finally seemed to notice Norma standing there, and paled visibly. "Oh! President Oak — I, I didn't know that you were involved in the investigation! I'm so sorry!"

"Don't apologize, sweetheart," she said. "I just want to get to the bottom of all this, just like everyone else." She turned her attention back to Republic. "Now, where are the Avoxes?"

"We've got them all rounded up in the other room. I figure he can bring them all out one by one, so we don't miss anything."

"An excellent idea." She followed him over to a loveseat. The coffee table had been moved and instead there was a simple chair. The interpreter — who introduced herself as Willhemina — stood by one, the Avoxes were brought out and interrogated. They heard little that they didn't already know. The day of the murder, Aeneus had sent them all away early because they said they needed time alone. This was not uncommon, especially in the days leading up to the Games.

All the stories more or less matched, although there were certainly alibies that needed to be confirmed.

About halfway through the group, Norma had a thought.

"Maybe the Avoxes might know of a potential suspect we don't?" she said. "After all, they're terrified of breaking the rules, for the most part. I've no doubt if Aeneus was looking into something they didn't want anyone else knowing about, they couldn't send their servants away whenever they needed privacy."

She turned to the young woman as she was sat in the chair in front of them. "Did Aeneus have friends or acquaintances or visitors that seemed a bit... out of the ordinary? Someone not in their social sphere?"

The Avox's face paled. She glanced fearfully up at the interpreter.

"They're dead, child, Aeneus isn't going to punish you. In fact, you'd be doing wrong by them by keeping the information secret. Now tell us."

On shaking hands, she made a few quick movements.

"She says they were sometimes visited by a few people from lower castes, or from the Districts. Victors."

"Visiting with Victors isn't necessarily all that uncommon. After all, when they win the Hunger Games, they're more or less part of the Capitol elite, if they wish to be. Nevertheless, we'll have to look into this."

Norma stood, running her hands down the front of her skirt and smoothing it over. "Well. I think I've heard quite enough. I have some things at home that I must get to. Please let me know if anything else above the ordinary surfaces. And have Scarlet send me any results when he's done hacking into that computer file."

"Will do, ma'am." Republic stood and shook her hand before she left.

A single withering look made most of the reporters back off. After all, everyone was afraid of the president. None of them cared more about getting the scoop than they did their livelihoods — or their lives. And she wasn't in a particularly sympathetic mood that afternoon, so she was liable to do something regretful.

More and more she wondered about what sort of a life Aeneus had led that they had kept secret from her, from the love of their life. This was more than the normal drama and scandal that followed celebrities around. This was something that would have shaken the Capitol to its core, if it was made public knowledge. She had to do everything she could to keep that from happening.

* * *

 **A/N: Woo the plot thickens! I hope I'm doing this well, I've never really written much in the mystery genre lmao, but subplot is subplot!**

 **A quick note about Cedar's vocalizations: I tried to keep it as simple and respectful as possible, and decided it would be easier to write it how the others would likely interpret it, having been around him for a little while, but in reality the stuff he "says" doesn't really sound much like that due to his Deaf dialect. The others know more or less what he's saying, and since he's autistic and was nonverbal because of how upset he was, then he wasn't saying much to begin with. I hope that makes sense? Idk fgnogin i just wanted to point that out for people who might not be as familiar with Deaf people and how they speak.**

 **Anyway, CQ: I'd love to hear some theories about whodunnit! Or anything you've got currently circulating in your brain about it.**

 **Let me know what you thought!**


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